#you then go on to bring more kids into this fucked up fold yourself. teaching them the way you were taught.

[sovaharbor]

tbh all i want to write is a fic where all the x-men student classes sit in a circle and talk about their traumas

[it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream]

The Beacon Witch - Pt.5

-Y/n moves to Beacon Hills to stay with her Guardian Deaton and finds love in the shape of a wolf- Reader x Derek Hale-

“Look, we have to go, she’s already showing signs of power imbalance. It’s time to unlock her gift so she can at least have a chance at being what she was born to be. It would be in your best interest to come. There are a lot of things in the world that want to hurt her kind, once people figure out just how powerful she will be, it will only get worse. She will hate me for a few days, but as her mate, you need to be there.” 

Lydia threw her stuff into the back of your uncles truck with a thump. Turns out she wouldn’t be letting you go this road trip alone. You don’t know how or when it had happened, the new girl.. you, becoming best friends with one Lydia Martin, but you couldn’t be more grateful. After you had poured your heart out to her, she realised she had to be there for you. So yup, there you both were, standing in the scorching heat waiting for Deats to close up shop and get on the road. 

After explaining what had happened with your magic while Deaton helped patch Scott up, he decided it was getting too risky not to teach you about your powers. Beacon Hills wasn’t the safest place to learn, especially with Gerard and his goons around, apparently you needed to go to a few sacred places anyway. 

You weren’t sure what you were truly going to endure in the next few days, you didn’t feel overly confident when Deaton stumbled out of the clinic with arms full of all sorts of papers, books and weird looking viles filled with… you didn’t want to know. He was slowly loading everything into his jeep, every now and again looking over his shoulder for god knows what. 

“If I stand out in this heat any longer you’ll have to learn a witchy spell just to bring me back to life.” You chuckled but agreed with your drama queen of a bestie, fanning yourself as beads of sweat trickled down your cleavage. You were about to usher Deaton along when you heard a familiar roar of an engine. In slow motion you turned to watch the sleek black car come down the street right for you. You had to be fucking kidding me. You looked at you uncle incredulously. Lydia shook her head and pulled her sunglasses down slightly, noting another car that followed.

“Turns out, there’s something I need to get on the way to our destination, it’s going to be a long trip and its too dangerous for you to come with me to get what I need. I know you’re pissed right now, but it’s in your best interest.” With that, Deaton placed your luggage on the floor and hopped in his car like nothing was wrong. Had he hit his bloody head? Was he deluded. “I promise kids, you’ll be in safe hands.” You glared after the jeep as he reversed and sped off before you could protest. 

Your stomach was tied in knots, you weren’t ready to see Derek, it had only been a few days since the ice rink incident. Not to mention, the car behind him was packed full of well… his guard dogs. Even from a distance you could see Ericas smug grin. You felt sick. The girl had no reason to dislike you, for one your hardly knew her.

“Okay, I don’t care what happens, promise me you will not leave me in a car alone with Derek fucking Hale.” You had grabbed Lydias hand, shaking slightly. Lydia crossed her heart with her neatly manicured finger. 

“Hope to die Y/N/N.” You sighed, pulling your sunglasses down over your worried eyes. 

“I wouldn’t hope for that Lyd, not in our case.” You folded your arms across your chest in a huff. Who cares if now was the time you wanted to act like a stroppy teen, the whole situation was a joke. 

The cars rolled up, dry earth in clouds of smoke hovered around your bare legs. Shorts and t-shirt was normally a no go for you but today was an exception, exceptionally fucking hot. You noticed Derek was alone in his car, which surprised you, you half expected to see a newly barbied Erica clinging to his arm like a lost puppy. Your inner most thoughts made you giggle which didn’t go unnoticed by Lydia. 

Derek gracefully got out of his car, honestly, what a beauty. The car you mean.. well okay, Derek too. Even in the heat he still donned his usual jeans but no leather jacket, instead tight fitting black henley that truly showed off his godly physique, you weren’t complaining really, if anything you were trying not to drool. But then images of the other night flashed back and you cringed.

“Y/N, get in the car, Lydia.. I didn’t know you were coming, you’ll ride with Erica and Boyd, Issac will come with us.” You were about to protest but you were cut off by a slight growl. You raised an eyebrow. It was too hot to argue. You were just grateful Erica wouldn’t be with you. 

“Lydia I told you not to say hope to die” you chewed your lip in worry.

“Charming.” Lydia popped her gum and grabbed her bag, not before hugging you and quietly reassuring you everything would be okay. Your bag had already been thrown in the boot by Issac who had swiftly made his way over to you. 

“Hey Y/N, your tattoos are cool..”Issac was trying to make small talk and gestured to the large tattoo that ran from your thigh up your shorts and stopped at your hip. 

Derek stood with his arms folded across his chest, his knuckles white from how hard he was clenching his fists and a dark eyebrow raised toward the brown curly-haired boy.

“Lahey, do yourself a favour, if you want to keep your eyes in your head, don’t look at her legs again.” Issacs neck turned red and it crept up to his cheeks, he stuttered an apology and quickly made his way into the backseat of the car. 

“Wow Derek Hale the jealous type, learn something new everyday.” You ignored him and brushed passed him, your skin brushing against his which sent almost a visible shock between your bodies. God, it was going to be a long drive. 

You weren’t wrong, only a couple of hours in and you were getting bored, restless, turned on? Sitting next to your mate proved to be harder than you thought. You couldn’t deny there was a huge connection between the two of you. It radiated of the both of you, so much so you could see it affecting Issacs aura, even though he was in the back seats. You decided to break the silence. 

“So, where are we going?” Issac sat forward. Derek relaxed a little in his seat. 

“New Orleans.” You almost choked. New Orleans was at least a two day drive… “Were stopping at a motel half way, don’t panic.” It was as if he could sense your worry. 

“Oh i’m not worried, I have you and Issac for company, yippee.” You rolled your eyes and kicked your converse clad feet up onto the dash of the car. Derek looked at you out of the corner of his eye, you shrugged and Issac snickered in the back. Yup.. a long drive. 

-hours later- 

“Eye spy with my little eye, something beginning withhhhhh G.” Issac wasn’t actually as bad as you thought, you’d had to give the guy credit, he was pretty funny. 

Derek didn’t seem to mind the interaction as much now the journey had gotten on a bit, he did however keep trying to cover your legs with your abandoned hoodie that lay strewn on the back seats and glanced every so often at Issac to make sure he wasn’t looking, which was completely ridiculous. 

“Grass.” 

“Gate.”

“Oh oh.. Gas station!” You cheered when he got it right. You’d seen the sign for it a way back. You looked at Derek who had his attention dead set on the road, however, the tilt of his lip in the shape of a smile didn’t go unnoticed by you. 

“Hey, Der, can we stop, i’m hungry and I need to pee.” Initially you hadn’t realised the accidental nick name, it just came out naturally. Issac was looking between you both now, a smirk on his face, you flicked his head. Something about Issac led you to believe you’d become good friends. Derek cleared his throat. 

“Yeah, we need gas anyway.” You could tell it had rattled him a little bit, hell, it’s not like you were expecting it either. 

The car pulled to a stop, the black jeep behind you following in closely. Issac was out of the car in a flash. Then there were two. You don’t know what came over you. 

“You know, i’m sorry I’m your mate. A couple of months ago, I didn’t even know I was a Witch let alone the supernatural existed, I know you asked Stiles and Scott not to tell me.. I’m sorry you didn’t get someone better suited to. whatever this life is…” You were used to being pretty down on yourself, but you couldn’t comprehend how the universe had paired you, someone so damaged with a tough background and no sense of confidence with someone like Derek Hale, an Alpha for christ sakes. He’d got a pretty rough deal. 

You were about to get out, the silence in the air becoming increasingly awkward. The door on your side was pulled shut again as Derek reached over you. You were hyper aware of the fact that Dereks face was inches away from yours, moving would surely cause your lips to touch, the thought crossed your mind for a nano second. 

“I’m not, i’m not sorry, I told you, I get what I want Y/N and you’re exactly what I want. So don’t ever think that. I knew from the moment I saw you that day in the parking lot that you were my mate, I just never thought I’d find mine, I was scared, i’ve seen what can happen to people when they loose their mate, my biggest worry is you getting hurt.” 

Derek Hale had a soft side? Apparently he did when it came to you. You grabbed his hand and smiled, grateful for his insight. 

“Thank you, for telling me how you feel…” You were interrupted when Lydia knocked on the car window, making you jump out of your skin and Dereks hold on your hand tighten. 

“Come on Y/N, I’m not peeing in this shithole alone.” You chuckled, Derek grinned. You didn’t realise how cold it had gotten on your travels. You shivered when the frigid air hit your skin, it definitely wasn’t Beacon Hills anymore and your shorts and t-shirt didn’t cut it. You were heading to the back to grab your jumper when a wad of something was thrown at you. You caught it instinctively, just in front of your face. You couldn’t help but breath it in, the smell, it was incredible. Derek smirked from a few steps away, watching you sniff his jumper. 

“Are you gonna stand there and sniff it, or are you going to put it on.” 

———————————————————————————————————————————

“He’s tagged me again Lydia, is he normally this weird, what do we actually know about this guy?” You switched the tap off and grabbed some paper towels. Your phone had dinged again with another notification. Matt.. he’d tagged you in another photo on his so called ‘year book’ page, you hadn’t even seen him take it. 

Walking outside you pocketed your phone, you needed some snacks before you could get back into the car. You could see everyone in the gas station, laughing at something Isacc had said. In that moment Derek looked pretty care free, it was a nice change. 

“I don’t know Y/N/N, all I know is that guy has a weird obsession with you, me and Allison noticed it as soon as you moved here, stay away from Matt, he seems.. off.” 

Two bags of skittles, a red bull and some potato chips later and you were off, Dereks hoodie still wrapped around you. He was quiet, but then you put it down to him being Derek, until he turned around. 

“So who’s Matt?” 

[bigskydreaming]

Okay, so you know “Justice League meets Batman’s kids, who they’d previously been unaware existed” AUs?

So picture that.....but this time, instead of them just having no knowledge of any of these other Gotham vigilantes at all....the Batkids all migrate to various cities as they get older and become known as their protectors - Dick in Bludhaven, Tim in San Francisco, Cass in Hong Kong, etc....

Meaning they’re all established figures, the Justice League are aware of them as solo local heroes who stick to their cities and so they just don’t interact with them much if at all, or else some are members of team lineups but are particularly vague about their histories or life outside of the team’s adventures....

So the big reveal isn’t that they become aware of all these other Gotham vigilantes all at once....its that some big conflict or whatever requires a huge team up of all available heroes, and in the aftermath, they figure out that like.....despite being known as solo heroes who work alone or loners outside of their team settings, 80% of these heroes all not only seem to already know each other, they seem to be related.

And so naturally they all turn to Batman, who has profiles on every known hero and they thus figure had researched these individuals too and just never mentioned this little detail, and they’re like, “Did you know about this?”

And then Nightwing turns to him too, arms crossed and is like, “Yeah Dad, did you know about this?”

And the infamous Red Hood is all: “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have never met any of these people before in my life. Lives? Whatever.”

And then Red Robin moodily grates out “I have no siblings.” Since he’s nursing a grudge since Dick and Jason broke into his apartment the night before and replaced all his custom Red Robin gear with Darkwing Duck merchandise and his vengeance will be swift and also totally disproportionate because things escalate quickly in this family, that’s true in every universe.

Cass meanwhile has deftly skewered Jason’s lie by walking over to him and brazenly patting down the man with many many guns with no fear whatsoever. He squawks and futilely attempts to bat her hands away as she riffles through his many pockets, but he doesn’t seem shocked, just annoyed. Eventually, she pulls away and triumphantly reveals a box of Hello Kitty themed band-aids.

“So these are yours then? Just for you?” Black Bat asks smugly. Red Hood squints at the box.

“What the fuck? How long have those been in my jacket? Why are those in my jacket? Did you freaking plant them in my jacket just on the offchance you could at some point in the distant future use them at my expense?”

Black Bat frowns, puzzled. “Yes?”

“Oh come on, Dead Hood,” Spoiler says with an exaggerated toss of her head meant to convey she’s rolling her eyes beneath her own mask. She skips her way across the room to Black Bat and then drapes herself languidly all over the smaller woman. Who in turn doesn’t so much as twitch beneath the sudden added mass as Spoiler holds out her hand towards the box of band-aids. 

“One please. I have a boo-boo,” she says with easy familiarity straight into the intimidating cowl of Black Bat. Only then does she deign to finish her train of thought with Red Hood.

“I mean seriously, are you saying you don’t have potential blackmail set-ups, pre-rigged releases of incriminating material, and a random assortment of traps, pratfalls and mortifying scenarios in place for the express purpose of being able to humiliate any and all of your siblings at any given moment, without any need for additional prep time?”

“Is this true, Little Wing?” Nightwing whirls on the larger Red Hood with a faux-scandalized gasp. The founder and leader of the Titans, formerly the Teen Titans, renowned for his stratagems and calm competence when directing squads of supers in the heat of battle while he keeps pace with nothing more than naturally acquired acrobatics and a utility belt that apparently uses the same technology as Wonder Woman’s invisible jet....now appears to be....staggering with the back of his hand pressed to his forehead, moaning about how he felt....faint? 

What is happening right now, several dozen superheroes want to know. Is this a drill? Are they supposed to be checking for signs of a mental ambush from undetected psychic saboteurs? Did they all hit their heads at the exact same time and are now experiencing some kind of shared mass concussion?

Look, that wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to ever happen on the Watchtower. 

“Have I failed you so utterly?” The veteran child hero bemoans with a dramatic twirl - that when contrasted with his stern demeanor of a mere ten minutes ago - makes the fears of telepathic infiltration seem less paranoia and more....concerningly probable. “Did you learn nothing from me? Did you learn nothing from B?”

He stops and jabs a finger up at the sky. “Quick, everyone! What is the very first rule of Living While Batty?”

As if by rote, over a half a dozen voices chime in from all over the room, causing various heroes to jump. Spooked by yet more and more vigilantes joining in some kind of mass recitation like they and they alone have some kind of clue what the hell is going on and everyone else just hadn’t been invited to the party. Which is just rude, honestly. Nobody likes feeling like they weren’t invited to the party. Not even superheroes. 

“If you’re not going to bother preparing for every possible contingency and at least six impossible ones, you might as well just stay in bed.”

Even the Red Hood joins in the Illuminati chant or Cub Scout pledge or demonic ritual or whatever the fuck that just was, though his slumped and exasperated posture gives away every hint of sulkiness his headgear otherwise would have kept safely hidden. He’s surprisingly more...expressive, than most who’d only known of him by reputation had expected him to be. The day continues to yield surprises.

“Of fucking course I do,” he growls out, snatching the box from Black Bat. She doesn’t even fight to hold onto it, just lets it go with a knowing smirk. “I wasn’t surprised by the idea of it, I was just surprised she bothered with such a weak effort. Like yeah whatever, actually those could be mine. I use those all the time at home. So what?”

He aggressively yanks one of the band-aids out of the box, fumbles with the peel-off strips with one hand and he roughly rolls up the sleeve of his jacket with the other. Then just slaps it on his forearm and raises said appendage high, showing it off this way and that. “See?”

“Oh yeah, for sure,” Signal drawls from the other side of the room, nodding his head approvingly. “Totally convincing. Nice job walking that one back, you really showed them.”

Red Hood’s head snaps in his direction with ominous intent. “Watch it, Day-Glo.”

Signal just snorts.

“Yeah, like I’m gonna take constructive criticism on my name and costume from a dude who’s spent the last several years calling himself Red HOOD while running around in a freaking HELMET.”

“Its not meant to be literal, you fucking pedant.”

“So wait, its not literally a helmet? Huh, does it at least protect your head literally, or just like...symbolically? Like if Bane were to clock you across the head, would your concussion just be a metaphor? What’s the treatment protocol for a metaphorical concussion? Fluids, bedrest and a philosophical prescription of two chapters of Chicken Soup for the Soul as needed?”

“Laugh it up, KC and the Sunshine Band,” Red Hood bats back. “You just got yourself disinvited from Thursday night’s poker game.”

Signal just grins and folds his arms over his chest cockily. “Please. You’ve been looking for an excuse to ban me for weeks, cuz you know until you can prove I’m using my ghost vision to cheat, you can’t actually bring suit against me for it in Family Court.”

“That, and also Family Court isn’t a real thing, you toddler. Stop validating Wing-a-ding-ding’s obsession with Shitty TV Nostalgia and just call it that thing where Oracle traps us all in a room until we settle our latest fight without anyone getting stabbed.”

“Yeah, but like, say that five times fast,” Spoiler pipes up. “Its just not practical. Family Court’s way easier.”

“Says the one who’s not even in our fucking family.”

“And yet I grace you all with my sublime presence anyway,” she blows a kiss at him, beatifically unbothered. “You’re welcome.”

The Red Hood scoffs and rounds on his heel, zeroing in on Batwoman in the far corner.

“Hey Auntie B, my siblings are all dead to me and I just helped stop an alien invasion so I deserve nice things like a fun Saturday night. Can you get me into Dad’s fundraiser so I can crash it? He won’t put me back on the list until I promise not to bring any C-4 with me and I won’t promise not to bring any C-4 because he should just trust me that I won’t when I say I’m not gonna and he won’t trust me that I won’t until I admit I shouldn’t have brought any to that sting last month where three tiny little yachts blew up through barely any fault of my own, and I’m just not gonna do that ever because I have convictions and I feel I shouldn’t have to be punished for that. Y’know?”

Batwoman blinks at him. “Kid, I’m not gonna lie to you. You’re my nephew and I love you, but I stopped listening three seconds into all that.”

“Ugh, fine. Can you help me crash Dad’s event tonight so I can teach him a lesson about why he should just trust me not to make a scene so I don’t have to always make a scene to make a point.”

“Tempting as you make that sound,” she says wryly, “I have a strict policy for dealing with you lot and your......everything. I only worry about tolerating one of you at a time, and there’s seven of you, and seven days in the week. You each get your own. You know perfectly well its Robin’s day today. You get me on Tuesday, just like always.”

“Auntie B, we’re not like other families, are we?” Red Robin’s delivery is sarcastically childish and his question clearly rhetorical. Most of his attention is fixated on whatever it is he’s doing with his wrist-mounted computer. 

“No sweetie, we’re all severely fucked in the head and a little bit too comfortable with that.”

“Just checking. Oh hey, Hood, I just emailed you a patch for the hole in your firewall I exploited when replacing all my shit using your accounts just now.”

“You did what?”

“Used your accounts to pay to replace all my stuff that you fucked with last night?” Red Robin says slowly. “Did you not realize that I’ve been sticking within ten feet of you for the past five minutes just so I could clone your devices and do all that while BB and Spoiler kept you distracted? I gotta say, bro, I feel like that’s on you then.”

Red Hood swivels his helmeted head in the direction of the aforementioned two. Black Bat waves. Spoiler shoots him an utterly unrepentant thumbs up.

“You’d side with your ex over me? That’s what its come to?”

“My only allegiance is to chaos,” Spoiler says brightly. Black Bat shrugs.

“Plus he bribes better.”

“Hateful,” Red Hood points at Black Bat, moving on to level the same finger at Spoiler, who curtsies in acknowledgment: “Hateful-er.”

Then the finger rounds the bases to aim judgmentally at Red Robin. “Hateful-est. And that was all Nightwing’s idea anyway, not mine.”

“Oh, I assumed as much,” he says casually. “Your idea of a prank tends to have more of a Carrie vibe. Or be a literal literary reenactment.”

“Its called an homage, 4chan.”

“Whatever, plagiarist. And anyway, I couldn’t go after ‘Wing for payback on this one. He used an Immunity card. If you didn’t want me getting back at you, you should have used one too."

Red Hood looms aggressively. Red Robin ignores willfully. Round and round they go. Superheroes who can survive excessive G-Forces are getting dizzy just watching them have a largely motionless stand-off. That shouldn’t be how that works, but whatever. All the most infamously reclusive and isolated heroes in all hero-dom are apparently part of the same one big reclusive and isolated family of fucked up weirdos and they’re all officially bonkers. Nothing makes sense anymore. Reality broke. Try another stall.

“Okay, but see, in order to have an Immunity card, I would have to participate in one of you losers’ stupid Immunity challenges,” the Red Hood drags out with exaggerated patience. “And I’m just not going to do that, on account of those all being fucking stupid. You see the problem there?”

Red Robin just shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, bro. You can have principles or you can have an Immunity card. You can’t have both.”

Meanwhile, on another side of....the same room.....look, its like, an octagonal room, probably. It has a lot of sides. Robin fends off questions from an aggrieved looking Superboy.

“You never told me you had a bajillion brothers and sisters!”

“Yes but I never said I didn’t either.”

Superboy rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, so I should just assume everyone I meet has a bajillion secret brothers and sisters?”

“Well clearly it would have worked out in your favor in this instance if you had, now wouldn’t it?”

“Assuming of course that you can trust what has been said or implied here today and I am actually related to any of those numbskulls. Which I am not actually admitting to,” Robin tacks on hastily.

Superboy eyes him dubiously. “You joined in the same creepy chant all the others did and then got super self-conscious and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Which uh. I did.”

“First off, your interpretation of body language is abyssmal. I do not get self-conscious,” Robin says with a delivery that probably could have benefited from being a little less self-conscious. “And second....that proves nothing. I guessed what they were going to say.”

“Word for word,” Superboy says super-skeptically.

“I’m very good at guessing things. You know this.”

“Okay. Guess how much I believe you right now then.”

Robin glares and folds his arms grumpily across his chest. 

“And what was that anyway? Was that like....you guys’ family motto or something like that?”

“Oh no,” Spoiler pipes up. “That’s much shorter.”

Superboy balks at that. “Wait, you guys actually have one of those for real?”

“Yup,” Steph says, counting out the words with her fingers. “He who laughs last....probably works for the Joker. So tranq him just to be safe. See? Only sixteen words. The first rule of Living While Batty is way longer, and what we said was just the abridged version. You should hear the original, before Black Bat put her foot down and refused to memorize it unless sizable edits were made.”

Superboy hovers between her and Robin now, both in mid-air and on the verge of taking Spoiler’s words as an invitation to hear just that. A low growl arises from Robin’s direction.

“Must you?” He asks the older vigilante, with a most put upon expression.

She looks at him pityingly. “Do you actually need me to answer that? Like, we’ve met, right? Hi, I’m Spoiler.”

“Wait, so Robin said that I just never specifically asked him if he had a bajillion brothers and sisters, and that’s why he didn’t tell me, so that means he wouldn’t have just lied and there’s not some code of secrecy that flat out forbids telling other people stuff, right?” Superboy realizes excitedly.

“Yes, excellent direction. Go on,” Spoiler says, steepling her fingers. Robin buries his face in the palm of one hand.

“Soooo, what other stuff could you tell me about Robin’s super top secret family that I wouldn’t think to ask about but that he would tell me about if I knew what questions to ask?”

She claps once, lightly but with emphasis. “Well done. You’ve passed the first barrier. Untold secrets await you behind just a few more.”

“I’ll get you for this,” Robin vows calmly. She waves a hand at him.

“Yeah, yeah. Just make sure you do it before January 1st, remember? You’ve promised retribution like ten times already this year and those don’t roll over, y’know. Rules are rules.”

“Enough!” Thunders a voice then, from the front of the room. Well one of the fronts anyway. Like sides, it has a lot of them, but this is the one where Batman’s standing. All eyes snap to him. Which is kinda just what eyes do when Batman says stuff like that. Its like his superpower, except he doesn’t actually have superpowers, which is what makes it scary. But where the snapping of the eyes (directional) is usually followed by Batman saying something else besides just “hey look at me,” here he pauses in the wake of his own call to attention’s waning reverberations. Uncharacteristically silent.

Not that, y’know, he’s normally Mr. Talkity Talk, but usually his silences feel like he has the words to fill them, he’s just withholding them. This though, this feels more like he doesn’t have any words at all. And he’s as confused by it as any of them, and most everyone else is confused by Batman being confused, and its this whole trickle down economy of confusion and its wrecking havoc on the value of the golden silence standard.

Of course, not everyone present is rendered spellbound with confusion.

“C’mon B,” Nightwing cajoles, leaning forward and practically radiating delight. “I think you know what you have to do now. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Its not likely to come around again.”

Red Hood snickers beneath his helmet and chimes in. “Yeah Pops, go ahead. You do this and you’ll actually have my respect for a whole twenty four hours. No, wait. Sixteen. No! Eight. Yeah, eight. Still a good deal.”

“Carpe diem, B,” Red Robin grins, leaning back as if to enjoy the show.

“Hey! Infringe on my trademark one more time, dude,” Signal throws a faux-glare at the former. Red Robin just quirks an eyebrow.

“And what, you’ll start saying Yum every time you eat a burger? Oh no. I’m hoist by my own petard.”

Signal flips him off with a grin and then redirects his attention back to Batman. “Yeah seriously though B, you kinda gotta do it now. Because if you don’t do it, then you’ll forever be the guy who didn’t do it, and you don’t want to be that guy, do you?”

“Yeah you really don’t want to be that guy,” Spoiler shouts out. “Nobody likes that guy. He’s the worst.”

“Do it, do it,” Black Bat starts chanting beside her, steadily picking up speed and volume. Several others start joining in. Even Robin appears to be slightly anticipatory, albeit trying very hard to hide it.

Batman sighs, and somehow everyone manages to hear it. Stills. Waits for....something? Nobody but them seems to have any clue what, but the air is thick and heavy with portentiousness. Something is about to happen, and all most of the heroes present could say for sure is it was something they never would have in a million years seen coming.

Finally, Batman straightens with the resigned air of a man about to have oh so many regrets. He crosses his arms, shakes his head, and in an absolute deadpan monotone, says:

“You are awful children. You know you’re killing me. You’re killing your father.”

[brrahbrrahcharacterimagines]

Sensei (Jiraiya x reader) SMUT

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Jiraiya x Reader

Word Count: 2580

Warnings: Masturbation (female), cum, oral (male receiving), dirty sex, sensei kink?, praise kink

A/N: I'm not even sorry

Starting your ninja training older than everyone else meant you always felt like you were behind. While all the other students became chunin in their mid-teens, you were 18 before you even took the exam.

That being said, you were older than most of your sensei's previous students.

It didn't used to bother you as much as it did now. Sure, you were sad before that you felt as if you were falling behind the other students. However, now you were worried for another reason. You were worried that Jiraiya saw you as a kid.

He was used to having young students, and he saw them in many ways as his children. You assumed he had the same kind of relationship with you, despite your age. This was fine at first, but the more time you spent with your sensei the more you wanted him to see you differently.

For your part, you had begun seeing him differently already. You took notice of his broad chest, his strong arms. He was trying to teach you a new justu, showing you better form.

Jiraiya was pressed against your back, his arms around your own so he could move your hands to the correct position. His hot breath fanned against your neck, making a chill run up your spine. To him it was no more than teaching a student, but for you it was the moment you began to see him as more than your teacher. Feeling his strong chest pressed up against you ignited a fire inside of you, one that still had not dimmed.

After that day, everything about the way you saw your sensei changed. Previously you hadn't cared much for the way the "Pervy Sage" chased women. You only cared about it in relation to your training, annoyed when you were unable to find your sensei. Now you found yourself jealous when he slunk off to bars or brothels alone, feeling as if he had chosen the option of being with other women over being with you.

You knew these women meant nothing to him, and many didn't even reciprocate his advances. Even so, there was already another woman that actually did mean something to him: Tsunade.

There was no way you could compete with her. She was another of the legendary Sannin, having trained with Jiraiya when they were young. Not only was she admirable for her strength, but she had also spent many years forming a bond with Jiraiya that you felt you could never attain. You knew how he felt about her, and despite the feelings being unrequited it hurt you more deeply than you would ever want to admit to him.

-

Tonight was nothing special. Another night, another village you would spend the night alone in. Jiraiya was already off for the night, no doubt to "gather intel" for his newest Icha Icha book.

You sighed, laying back on your bed in the room you had rented for the night. Your heart ached a little as you looked to the other bed in the room, one that would most likely stay empty tonight as Jiraiya found a bed elsewhere.

Giving up on feeling sorry for yourself, you looked around the room for something to do. You didn't feel like training, having already gone at it all day. You'd already eaten too, crossing that option off your mental list as well. It was times like this that you wish you had a hobby to bring on the road with you.

Glancing back over at Jiraiya's empty bed, something caught your eye. It was his newest publication, another of the Icha Icha series. You had to admit, something about the series had always intrigued you. Before you had always been too shy to pick up a copy, worried about what others might think of you. It's not like you had to worry about Jiraiya coming back tonight when he would be so busy.

You snatched the copy off his bed, flipping it open. The first few pages weren't bad, simply two characters going about their day together. However, it was only a couple more pages in when the characters made it back home and shut the door behind them.

It was filthy.

You had known the kind of content in these books, and had known the type of man that Jiraiya was. He wasn't one to tiptoe around a dirty word, but you had no idea just how dirty he could be in his writing. You read on.

He reached his hands up her blouse, taking a delicate, hardening nipple in each hand. A cry of his name escaped her hips as he began to gently rub circles around them, smirking at her reaction.

As you read the words on the page, you could feel yourself becoming more and more aroused as each word went by. You could almost feel Jiraiya's hands on your body, copying the movements of the characters.

You felt a flash of heat through your body, down towards your womanhood. Without feeling them you already knew your panties would be soaked. Knowing it was Jiraiya who had wrote this was making your mind run wild, imagining he were doing all of these things to you.

You continued reading, moving the book to your non-dominate hand so the other could crawl up your shirt. You grabbed your boob in your own hand, reading on. You flicked a finger across one of your nipples, relishing in the feeling of how hard it already was. You stifled a gasp at the touch, feeling dirty. The situation was giving you a rush, and it was turning you on more than you had been in a long time.

You couldn't stop reading, as if you were possessed. All you could do was read page after page, the actions escalating.

She undid his pants, puling them down to let his hard cock spring free. All she wanted was to take it into her mouth, and she did. Swirling her tongue around the sensitive tip she tasted his precum, only urging her to continue.

You pictured the scene in your head, imagining what it would be like to take Jiraiya into your mouth that way. Imagining it only made you more turned on, thinking about looking up at him through your lashes as he bucked his hips towards you, fucking your mouth.

He lined himself up at her entrance, holding back from slamming into her wetness. He slid his cock along her folds, teasing her until she begged for it to be inside of her.

You moved your own hand down into your panties, soaked just as you had expected. Your body lit up as you reached for your clit, rubbing small circles around the sensitive bud. A soft moan came from your throat, only making you wish Jiraiya were the one to ease it out of you.

You moved your fingers further downward, rubbing along the outside of your pussy. Lost in the moment, you didn't even hear the door creak open.

-

It had been a long night for Jiraiya, and a lonely one at that. Any girl he tried to flirt with denied his advances, and he hadn't even gotten any intel on the mission out of it. He decided to call it a night, walking back to the room he had rented for the two of you.

He expected you to already be asleep, as you usually were on the nights he returned. However, as he reached the door he heard more than snoring coming from the room. At first, he thought he had remembered the room number incorrectly.

For a moment, Jiraiya stood outside. Was there a man in there with you? He decided to peek inside, wanting to see if he needed to go and get his own room for the night.

Opening the door, his eyes went straight to you. He felt his eyes widen so large he was afraid they would pop out of his head. You were laying on your bed in only your panties, and from the sounds in the room he could tell they were already soaked through. Your breasts were on full display, making him wonder why he didn't look at them more often. In fact, he began to wonder why he didn't look at you as a whole more often. He was no stranger to finding younger, though of-age, women attractive, but something about being your mentor had made him block you off in his mind.

Now, as his eyes darted from your breasts to your pussy in an attempt to take it all in, he was mad at himself for not letting himself be attracted to you sooner.

Then he noticed your other hand. In it was a copy of his latest novel, and based on how many pages were left you had just gotten to the good part.

His dick had already begun to press on his pants from the sight of you, but now he knew what had made you feel this way.

It was him.

"Glad to see you enjoy my writing," he said cockily.

-

"Glad to see you enjoy my writing," you heard . Your hand froze in place as your eyes flashed to the doorway. To your horror you saw Jiraiya standing there. How much had he seen?

You shrieked, grabbing the blanket at your feet so you could pull it over your exposed body.

"Easy, it's not like I haven't already seen it now." He teased.

"What are you doing back tonight?" You barked, trying to hide your embarrassment with anger.

"I just wish I'd waited a little longer to come back, maybe you would have already had your panties off."

You knew these were the words of a pervy old man, but you couldn't help the way you felt as you heard them come from Jiraiya. Finally having the courage to look at him, you noticed how dark his eyes had gotten. Looking down, it was hard not to notice the tent forming in his pants.

You had thought you were already as turned on as you could have been, but seeing the way he looked at you was on another level entirely. You had always wanted him to look at you this way, wanted him to desire you.

You let the blanket fall, exposing yourself to him again. You tried not to show your excitement at the way you could see his smile grow as his eyes darted back to your chest.

"How about you take them off for me, sensei?"

You thought you had given the older man a heart attack. He froze, something you figured uncommon for a man so experienced as Jiraiya. He only faltered for a moment, quickly regaining his thoughts and making quick strides over towards you.

He did as you asked, tearing your panties from your body and rubbing his calloused fingers against your pussy. You moaned at the contact, rolling your hips towards Jiraiya.

"You like that?" He asked, "do you like it when your sensei touches you like this?"

You could barely respond, merely nodding as he elicited another moan from you. He leaned towards you, capturing your lips in his own. In the same moment you reached towards him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders.

"Fuck Jiraiya," you moaned as he began kissing down your neck towards your breasts. Jiraiya smirked at your reaction, knowing what he was doing to you. He pulled away just long enough to undress his torso, coming back to lick a circle around your nipple. One of your hands roamed his chest, running your fingers over the scar you found so sexy. The other buried itself deep in his thick, white hair, trying to pull him closer to you.

He took a nipple into his mouth, sucking on your tit as he lazily rolled his tongue around the bud. You continued to moan, urging him on.

For his part in the matter, Jiraiya hadn't felt this young in a long time. Sure, he'd had a run-in or two at a brothel, but nothing like this. Something about this felt more real to him. He knew all of the noises you made for him were genuine, and all he wanted to do was make them get louder.

You felt yourself reaching closer to orgasm as Jiraiya pulled away, taking off his pants. You raised your eyebrows as he exposed himself, met with more than you had expected. For a moment you were worried it wouldn't fit.

"Get on your knees for your sensei."

You did as you were told, getting on your knees so that you could take him eagerly into your mouth. You thought back to the earlier pages in the book, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock.

"Fuck Y/n," he groaned, trying to push more of himself into your mouth. "Your mouth feels so fucking good baby."

You moaned around his cock at the words of praise, sending delicious vibrations through his body.

Looking up at Jiraiya, everything was even better than you had imagines. His hand was in your hair, pulling you further onto his dick.

"That's right baby, get this dick nice and wet so I can fuck you."

You did just that, excited when he pulled out of you mouth. He pulled you up off the floor as if you weighed nothing, pushing you back on the bed.

"Do you want this baby?" Asked Jiraiya, lining himself up.

"Yes sensei," you moaned, teasing him and trying to push your hips closer to his. "Please fuck me Jiraiya."

At your words he pushed himself into you, going slowly enough to let you adjust to his size. When you were ready you started rocking your hips against his, begging him to move.

He began thrusting in and out of you, his thighs slapping against yours in a way that made your pussy throb.

"Jiraiya," you moaned, already feeling close to orgasm after being so close earlier in the night. You could tell he was feeling the same, the tightness of your wet pussy driving him crazy.

Jiraiya looked down at you, watching your tits bounce as he fucked you in a way he had never imagined. Your eyes rolled back and your mouth parted as he thrust into you, only adding to his ego as well as his own pleasure.

"You're gonna make me cum looking like that," he grunted. All you could do was moan in response, holding eye contact with him long enough to feel his thrust falter a little.

The tension was building up in the pit of your stomach until Jiraiya shifted, hitting your g-spot as he thrust. You couldn't hold on any longer, walls contracting around his cock as you screamed his name. He didn't last long after that, your pussy clenching around him pushing him over the edge. He pulled out, spilling over your stomach as he finished jerking himself off.

As he finished, he leaned down to press a kiss to your tired lips. Something about the action felt almost domestic, and you couldn't deny the butterflies in your stomach.

"I'm glad I brought this with me," joked Jiraiya, motioning to the book that lie forgotten on the floor.

"Me too," you teased. He smiled back at you with sleepy, satisfied eyes. This would be far from the last time, you were sure. And you couldn't wait for the next one.

-

-

MASTERLIST

[bucksfucks]

messing with a gemini | chris evans

gif credit.

SUMMARY || chris is a gemini, so you should expect nothing less than snide remarks, witty charm, and mind-blowing sex.

PAIRING || chris evans x reader

WORD COUNT || 1,902 words

WARNINGS || banter, teasing, cocky!chris, definite praise kink, light choking kink, chris goes down on the reader, fingering, oral, drinking, unprotected sex, both smutty, soft, and teasing — 18+ ONLY//MINORS DNI

NOTES || mmmmgmmgmgmgmgmg yeah

     The sound of the door shutting can only mean one thing.

    “Look what the cat dragged in,” you greet him, not turning around to face him.

    “Sweetheart if you don’t learn to shut that pretty little mouth of yours, I’ll do it for you.”

    Another snide remark, another sly smirk, and another roll of your eyes as Chris slides past you with a cup of tea in his hands.

    “You couldn’t make me if you tried.” You spat back, narrowing your eyes at him as you watched him quirk an eyebrow; intrigued at your comment.

    “Is that a challenge? Because you know I never back down from you.” He replies cooly, folding his arms over his chest before taking a sip of his hot drink.

    “Ah yes, how could I forget,” you feign enthusiasm, “you’re a Gemini.” You deadpan and now it’s his turn to roll his eyes.

    He kicks his foot off the wall behind him, “you didn’t answer my question, sweetheart.” He winks, brushing past your shoulder as you scoff.

    He’s gonna out of your sight before you have the chance to say anything else, letting out an exasperated sigh as you will yourself to calm down.

    “Hey!” Someone shouts through the trailer door, “can you run down to makeup for backup?” You don’t get to answer.

    “Thanks!”

    Before whoever it was slammed the door shut and you let out another frustrated groan.

    You knew what you signed up for, you weren’t head of makeup. You weren’t even assistant head. No, you were one of the nobodies.

    Someone they hire to run from one end of set to the other only to get yelled at for not having enough brushes or the right shade of a palette.

    It was almost poetic.

    “Hey, I’m here, what did you guys need?” You ask as you put on a fake smile and enter the makeup trailer.

    The trailer where Chris is sat getting his hair done.

    Your blood boiled, wasn’t he supposed to be a charmer? A sweetheart? Maybe he was just really getting into character?

    “Can you sweep the floor and make sure there’s no more hair?”

    You had to physically fight the urge to drop your face, “sure!”

    You grabbed the broom, feeling embarrassed as you quietly sunk into the background as you felt Chris’ eyes on you.

    A few medial, mind numbing tasks later and it was closing in on 2am. Your notification-less phone screen lit up the empty trailer you were left to clean up.

    Not that you really minded.

    You find solace in the only time of the day where things seem to slow down. You also didn’t hate being alone where you could listen to music and clean hairbrushes.

    “So this is what you do after we cut.” The sound of Chris’ laugh startles you as you let out a soft yelp.

    He has a soft smile on his face, almost unrecognizable without his beard.

    “I thought I was alone,” you reply meekly, turning the volume lower on your phone as Chris shook his head.

    “Oh, I know,” he laughs, “I don’t think anyone would be belting out Queen like that if they didn’t think they were alone.”

    Once again, you feel embarrassed in front of him, shaking your head.

    “Whatever,” you try to brush it off. “Did you need something?” You ask as he shakes his head.

    “I was just checkin’ in on you.” He replies and you’re a little taken aback.

    “Oh, well thanks, but I’m okay. Just finishing up cleaning.” You said with a tight lipped smile and a nod of your head.

    Chris stands there for a second, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looks over his shoulder before clearing his throat.

    “Well uh, some of the cast and crew are havin’ some drinks and pizza later, if you wanted to tag along.”

    The invite makes your stomach drop into your lower belly as you open your mouth.

    You have to take a moment to formulate the words.

    “It’s getting pretty late, I think I’m just gonna head back to my hotel room. Parties aren’t really my thing.” You joke, lightening the mood as Chris cracks a smile.

    “Sure thing, sweetheart. The invites always there,” he says before turning on his heels and leaving you to yourself.

    Chris Evans was an enigma that you didn’t think you’d ever crack.

~

    The soft knock at your door caused your neck to snap in its direction, uncrossing your legs as you slid off the too big hotel bed and looked through the peep hole.

    It was hard to make out the figure, but it looked like...no, it couldn’t be.

    “Chris?” His name slipped through your lips as you opened the door.

    He beamed a smile as he held up a case of beer and box of pizza.

    “Turns out, parties aren’t my thing either.”

    You couldn’t help but chuckle as you moved aside to let him in.

    “And you decided that coming to my room at,” you had to check the time, “3:16 in the morning was the logical thing to do?”

    He set everything down on the coffee table before hopping onto your bed, “yup.”

    You had to roll your eyes as you laughed, closing and locking the door as you stepped in front of him.

    “C’mon kid,” oh, why did that do something to you?

    “You work hard every day of the week, you deserve one night to not care about anything.” His words were gentle as he stood up to grab a beer.

    “Want one?” He asked, holding a beer up as you replayed his words.

    “Sure,” he was right, you do deserve a break.

    You both took a seat on the small, uncomfortable couch in the room as you took a sip. Well, it was beer.

    “So,” you broke the silence, “the Chris Evans doesn’t like parties?” You quirked an amused eyebrow as he laughed.

    “Maybe I wanted to escape to see you, is that so bad?” He said, licking his bottom lip; not breaking eye contact.

    You shook your head, “such a fucking Gemini,” you mumble as Chris smirks.

    “What did I say about that smart mouth of yours?” He eggs you on, leaning forward and giving your knee a squeeze.

    “I don’t remember.” You bite back, feeling your heart kicking in your chest as you feel his breath fanning over your face.

    “Maybe I should teach you a lesson or two then, hmm?” He purrs, running his free hand up your neck and resting it there.

    “I dare you,” you mumble, transfixed on the feeling of his warm hands on you.

    The dominos fall and Chris’ lips are meshed with yours, the faint taste of beer on them as you wrap your fingers in the collar of his shirt.

    “You know I never back down from a challenge,” he murmurs against your lips before taking you by the hand and leading you to the bed.

    He pushes you onto it, the sheets around you as the weight of Chris’ body pushed you further into it.

    “Ah ah,” he tsks when you let out a soft moan, “I thought I told you to keep quiet for me.”

    You swallow thickly, throat dry and lips parted as you gasp when you can feel the weight of him between your hips.

    “Can you do that for me, sweetheart? Can you be a good girl?” He purrs, absolutely knowing what it does to you as you writhe under him. 

    “Good,” he hums. “Now let’s see how good you are when I’m between your legs makin’ then shake.”

    His wink doesn’t go unnoticed by you as your clothes are shed, his coming off until he’s left in nothing but his boxers.

    There’s little left to the imagination, the outline of his cock clear as he wraps his hands around your ankles and tugs you down to the end of the bed.

    You yelp, sliding off the pillows as he sinks to his knees, hungry eyes just waiting to taste you.

    “Look at you,” he cooes, “drippin’ at the thought of me between your thighs?” He mocks, cocking his head to side as he keeps your legs open.

    Chaste kisses are pressed to your inner thighs, gently as you try to stop the plea’s that are begging to slip past your mouth.

    “You’re bein’ so patient for me too, good girl.” He praises, he breath over your core is hot as you grab for his hair.

    The feeling of his tongue makes you moan and squeeze your legs around his head.

    “Mmm,” he hums, “that good already?”

    If he wasn’t buried between your legs you might’ve, just might’ve had the courage to roll your eyes.

    His fingers tease your entrance as his mouth works over your clit.

    There’s no holding back now.

    You don’t care how loud you’re being, giving into the sensation as he works you to the edge, your legs shaking.

    “You wanna come, don’t you, pretty girl?” Yes, God, yes.

    “Well that’s too bad,” he taunts making you let out a whine.

    “Not until I’m buried deep ‘side of you,” he grunts, quickly stripping off the rest of his clothes until he’s crawling back over you with a condom in his hand.

    You’re still dizzy, slightly angry from your denied orgasm, but wanting nothing more than to feel him stretching you out.

    “You think you’re ready for my cock,” he smirks teasingly as you feel him at your entrance.

    You whine, bringing his lips to your but he stops you at the last second.

    “Uh uh baby, I wanna hear you beg for it.” He taunts, nose brushing yours.

    “Fuck,” you whimper, “please, just fuck me.” You beg, eyes meeting his.

    That’s all he needs before he’s slowly sinking into you, watching your face contort in immeasurable pleasure.

    “Feel so fuckin’ good,” he grunts, “so tight and warm.”

    Your fingers dig into his speckled back, finding your ground as you dig into the soft skin as he thrusts into you.

    Suddenly, the only think you can think about is how good this feels.

    “My pretty girl,” he whispers, bending your one leg at the knee to get a deeper angle.

    “Takin’ my cock so goddamn well,” he grunts, “gonna make me come.”

    His words send a shiver down your spine as your walls flutter around him. He drops on one of his elbows, getting impossibly close to you.

    “You’re gonna come too, aren’t you, sweetheart?” He teases, lips on yours swallowing every moan before you feel a hand around your throat.

    “Look at me when you come, baby,” he purrs, applying just the slightest amount of pressure to the column of your throat.

    “Wanna see you come for me,” he smirks, his thrusts getting harsher before you feel yourself giving into your orgasm.

    Your body shakes as your mouth falls open, his name a breathy moan before you feel his hips stuttering.

    He sounds exhausted after he spills inside of you, tumbling on top of you as you’re left in sweaty silence as you’re left with nothing to do but run your fingers through his dampened hair.

    “Gemini or not, you’re what made me weak in the knees, sweetheart.” Chris whispers, eyes on yours as you feel a flutter in your heart.

    “There’s somethin’ about you that I won’t ever grow tired of, that I’m sure about.”

[hiddles-and-skittles]

Ride

Pairing: Bucky x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,585

Summary: Gatherings can't be that bad, right? Especially if your boyfriend convinces you to ditch early for a ride home on his motorcycle. It's just unfortunate he's gotta rile you up beforehand.. .

Warnings: 18+, kinda masturbation/edging by motorcycle???, teasing, pet names; sweetheart, doll, cocky Bucky (what? He's definitely a warning)

Notes: This idea came to me and I absolutely could NOT put it down. I don't typically write smut or anything along those lines, so any feedback is appreciated! This is way out of my comfort zone😅

____________

"Come on, Sam is waiting on us."

You roll your eyes and dramatically throw yourself back on the bed. "Yeah well, Sam can wait. I don't even want to be there."

"And you think I do?" He calls to you, pulling on his gloves and nearly stomping back towards your room.

"Bucky, I don't want to go." He stands in your doorway and you pout at him, making him sigh.

He cocks an eyebrow at you. "I know. But who says we gotta stay all night?" At this, you raise up from your mopey position. "We make an appearance, talk to Sam for a little while, then get lost in the crowd and disappear. He won't even notice."

You hum thoughtfully. "Good point." You swing your legs over the bed and slip into your Converse shoes, plastering a smile to your face and gleefully skipping due to the fact you'll get to leave early.

Sam was having a reunion party with some buddies from his Afghanistan tours. It was a huge event downtown, but neither you nor Bucky was a big fan of crowds. So the two of you only considered going in support of Sam.

Bucky stopped on the apartment complex's steps, narrowing his eyes at an empty parking spot. "He took my bike."

You snorted. "Cab it is."

________

Shortly you arrive at the event and he opens the cab door for you, his knuckles grazing down your arm to catch your hand in his. The action sends a shudder through your body and he smirks, stopping to give you a scheming look.

"What?" you ask him, furrowing your eyebrows and squeezing his hand.

"Nothing," he simpers.

You decide to be suspicious of him for the rest of the evening.

There are a plethora of people but you both advance through the crowd in search of Sam, Bucky stopping you to point out that Sam is quite preoccupied. He nudges you towards the most empty table he can find so you can sit down. On either side of you both is an empty seat, and the rest of the chairs are filled by half-drunk, burly men sporting drinks.

One of them turns to you and introduces himself and his comrades. A few of them take quick note of Bucky's name, quoting something Sam has mentioned about him before then thanking Bucky for his service. You wrap your arm around his middle and look up at him with pride, nuzzling yourself closer to your soldier.

You're both quiet as the vets around you continue their chatter about their best times, their laughter making the atmosphere light. You have to admit, you might actually be enjoying yourself. You're lost in a story about a guy teaching his kid how to hot wire a car when a hand squeezes your thigh.

Your knee immediately jerks and hits the table and you have to bite your bottom lip to stifle a yelp. A few heads turn in your direction and as you feel the warmth spreading to your face, you feign a sneeze, apologizing for the interruption. Bucky remains dead panned, although the sides of his mouth subtly quirk up. You glare at him. "Bless you, sweetheart," he patronizes. You shift uncomfortably as the men return to their conversations.

His hand makes its way back to your thigh and you inhale sharply through your nose. "Bucky," you whimper, swallowing hard.

"Gotta keep quiet for me, doll, or I'll stop," he tuts lowly. Instinctively you spread your legs a little to make enough room for his hand. Your breath hitches as he circles your clit with his middle finger, lightly tracing down your clothed mound. You curse yourself for wearing jeans, because the thickness of the denim heavily affects the way he feels against you.

But you want more.

He presses harder until Sam struts over to the table, and Bucky innocuously throws his arm around your shoulder. You huff in frustration and he chuckles.

"Surprised you two haven't left yet," Sam laughs, sipping a beer and slapping a hand over Bucky's shoulder.

"Why would we do that?" Bucky asks sarcastically.

Sam rolls his eyes playfully. "Stay awhile, enjoy the sunset and have a drink. They're all on the house." You both pause in thought. "I knew that would convince you!"

"Well," you start. "The sky is gorgeous right now. Maybe just one drink till the sun sets."

Someone then calls for Sam and he excuses himself, telling you he'll see you back at home later. You watch him disappear into the crowd, reality hitting you that you're still worked up from Bucky's teasing. And all it takes is a devious look from him to get you riled up again. You shoot up from your seat to thank the vets around you for their service, and tell them that it was nice to meet them, but you have some personal matters to attend to at home. Bucky follows suit, grabbing your hand.

You try to push your way through the crowd without an obvious, horny spring in your step, and as you pass by a table, Bucky fishes a beer with his free hand without stopping.

"I'll call the cab back here and we can-"

"No."

"What?" You stop in your tracks and Bucky lets go of you, continuing to walk to where his motorcycle is parked. He beckons you over with a crooked finger as he mounts the bike, and you fold your arms over your chest, cocking an eyebrow.

"What? It's not like he'll be able to drive tonight anyway." He foots the kick stand, placing his beer in the back compartment then bringing his hands up to twist around the handlebars. "Come on, let's go watch the sunset."

"The-the sunset?" You ask incredulously.

"What? You said it was pretty, let's go get a closer look." Your eye twitches at his feigned ignorance.

"Bucky I swear to god if you don't take me right now-"

He grins. "Then I just won't take you at all." He revs the engine once to accentuate his threat and you groan. "Come on or I'll leave you."

"Fine."

You march over to him and swing your leg over the bike, nestling yourself into his back and situating your hands on top of his shoulders. The engine roars to life, the heads of onlookers catching your eye and in one swift motion he kicks it into gear and you're off.

The winds whips your hair and licks at your face, causing you to constantly tear it away from your eyes. Once free, you take in the view before you, ever amazed at how the sun sets on the water; the sky glows with an orange and pink hue, making it look like a painting. And for a moment you forget about your throbbing lower half until you shift to get a little more comfortable on the seat and oh. Oh.

Your hands impulsively tighten around his shoulders and your jaw goes slack, gasping as the vibration from the motorcycle hits just the right spot. You let out a light moan and no sooner clap a hand over your mouth, hoping Bucky hasn't heard you. Your head slumps forward on his back.

"You good back there?" He yells over his shoulder.

"Y-yeah! Uh-all good!" you wheeze, attempting not to sound too out of sorts. The street is bare as he stops at a red light, and you try to breathe so as not to let the pleasure overtake you. It's not that you don't want to let go, it's just that you know you'll never hear the end of it from him of you do.

When the light turns green, he revs the engine so many times you lose count. Your mind is swirling in ecstacy and you start to pant faster, clinging onto Bucky for dear life as you near your release.

You screw your eyes shut, the coil finally snapping while you bite down harshly on the shoulder of his leather jacket. By this point you're unabashedly gasping and moaning, your hips bucking wildly into the seat as your clit is overstimulated to the point it hurts.

You pray for the ride to your apartment to end while he speeds up, causing you to sob into the waves of pleasure the vibrations are granting you. You claw mindlessly at his torso until he finally slows to a stop, and you catch your breath to come to your senses. You can't help the nagging, coherent thought that the ride home had taken a lot longer than usual and you realize the sky is now completely black and littered with stars.

He knew. That fucker knew.

Bucky dismounts the vehicle and stands before you with a hand on his hip and a smug demeanor. You lean forward on your hands, still heaving to try and even out your breath.

"Enjoy the ride?" Bucky taunts, flat lining his lips.

"Fuck-" pant  "-you," you nearly spit. He chuckles darkly. "You were edging me, with a goddamn motorcycle."

He scratches the back of his head. "I might have added a little extra something just for you."

You raise your head. "Why don't we go upstairs and you let me get my revenge?"

He huffs. "What's the point? You already came all over my seat."

"It wasn't your cock," you retort, untangling your wobbly legs from the bike. Bucky reaches out to steady you, pulling you to him by your waist.

"Fair point, pretty girl."

[beyondspaceandstars]

congratulations! 📚 could you do promos 4 & 7 from the smut with Natasha Romanoff???

by the way, I hope you have a great day/night!

Brat

Relationship: CEO!Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, fingering, dirty talk - 18+, minors DNI

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I went a bit CEO!Natasha with this one - hope that’s okay, I thought it lent well! Also, thank you! I hope you're having a nice day/night as well :)

Masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You really didn’t want to go and Natasha knew this but she was also quite the persuasive one, having such a dominance to her that you could rarely, if ever, say no to.

So, that’s how you found yourself a bit grumpily sitting in the car passenger seat while your girlfriend drove you two to whatever charity banquet this was.

Natasha was constantly getting these invitations being the high-up, fancy CEO that she was and usually you were fine with them. You liked the little appetizers and flutes of champagne. You especially liked your girlfriend parading you around, showing you off to fancy city people.

But tonight just wasn’t the night for you. You had had a ridiculous day at your own job and frankly, you just wanted to lounge around with your girl, maybe order pizza, and have lazy sex. Natasha had shut down your idea, saying she already RSVP’d for you two. Grudgingly, you shoved yourself into a dress and let her whisk you away

Little did she know, though, that you weren’t letting down easily. You had some potential ideas for the night, hoping that maybe — just maybe — you can rile Natasha up enough to keep her focus just on you and not the millionaires trying to network.

Upon arriving at the event, you hunted down the first tray of champagne you could find, taking a swig of the alcohol promptly. Natasha followed your path, stopping every now and then to chat, but once she was free of the schmoozing, she marched right towards you. An arm made it was tightly around your waist.

"What is your problem?" She gritted in your ear just below a whisper so no one could pick up on the tension. Your eyes darted around the room

"Nothing," you responded, taking another sip of champagne.

Natasha scoffed. "Well, you’re acting like a brat." She grabbed your glass out of your hand. You gasped but before you could protest, Natasha asked, "Is this because I made you come here tonight?

You shot her a look before taking back your champagne and finishing it off. "I’m gonna go get another drink."

Before your girlfriend could pull you back to her, you were already on a rampage for the bar. Luckily, no one tried to stop you. Thanks to your relations with Natasha, you had worked up a bit of your own status but it wasn’t like anyone genuinely cared. You weren’t negotiating deals.

You leaned on the bar and signaled for the bartender. You asked for something a little stronger. He nodded politely and got to making the drink. You turned your attention to the freshly polished wood of the bar.

Running a finger over it carelessly as you waited, out of the corner of your eye you noticed someone approach beside you. It was a man you somehow didn’t recognize. He looked very well put-together, almost like he was trying too hard, with his designer pressed suit and hair that could go up in flames from all the product in it.

You tried to ignore him, turning your attention to the bartender who was still at work, but it was hard when the man was not-so-subtly inching towards you. This wasn’t going to go very well, you thought. But you weren’t stopping it.

"In need of something to get you through the night?" The man suddenly asked. Your gaze shot over to him.

"Excuse me?"

He chuckled, "I meant the drink."

As if on cue, a glass was placed right in front of you. You wrapped your hands around it, slowly bringing it to your lips for a sip as you eyed the stranger. He was watching you quite intensely.

You hummed, delighted by the cocktail. "These things can sometimes be…draining."

He sighed. "Tell me about it."

The conversation fell into a lull. You tried glancing around at the other patrons, all completely oblivious to the bar, but just couldn’t shake this man and his eyes which were still watching you. They shamelessly took in the curves of your dress and even lingered a bit on your chest.

Your stomach dropped as you suddenly saw him step even closer, his finger lightly brushing your arm in the process. You froze but still made no chance to dash away. Maybe your goal of annoying your girlfriend tonight was going a bit too far…

"You know," he began, his voice dangerously low, "if you wanted to sneak away for a bit—"

"She doesn’t," Natasha gritted as she suddenly approached you two. You just about let out a sigh of relief as her arm came around your waist, pulling you into her side. You yelped at the action, stumbling a bit, but she held you tight.

The mystery man looked you two over, a bit of a pleased expression graced his face. But he didn’t press further, probably very deterred by the daggers Natasha’s eyes were shooting at him. He collected his drink from the bar and raised it at you two as if in some awkward toast.

"Fair enough, ladies," he said, and then he was back in the crowd, lost in the sea of aristocrats.

You didn’t know what to do now, opting to stare down at your drink.

"What the hell was that about?" Natasha asked.

"I- He just came up to me," you pouted.

Natasha shook her head in disappointment as she began walking you two away from everyone else. You didn’t know where she was leading you until you were roughly pulled into the women’s restroom. It was empty, thankfully, and you heard the turn of the lock as you placed your drink on the counter.

"He just came up to you," Natasha repeated. She was sauntering over, looking very much more like some powerful CEO than your sweet girlfriend. You gulped and gripped the edge of the bathroom sink. "He may have came up to you but I didn’t see you making any moves to walk away."

"Well—"

"And you let him touch you," she scoffed. "Don’t think I didn’t see his fingers on your fucking arm." For emphasis, she gripped the spot he had brushed over. You yelped. "What made you think he could do that, hmm? What, did you forget who you belong to?"

"No, Natasha, I didn’t mean—" You pleaded but she wasn’t buying it.

"I’m not buying it," she said as she roughly turned you around, her back pressing your front into the bathroom counter. "In fact, I think you need a little reminder."

You held your breath in anticipation as Natasha began gathering the skirt of your dress. You knew what she was going to find underneath. And you certainly knew it wasn’t going to help your case.

Sure enough, once your lower region was exposed, Natasha let out a gasp. “No panties? Are you kidding me right now?!”

"Natasha, please—"

"You really are a fucking brat, aren’t you?"

You tried shaking your head but it was no use. Her mind was made as she pressed into you even more, her hand now coming to caress your inner thigh. You whimpered out your girlfriend’s name as her fingers began slowly circling your clit. She chuckled in your ear before collecting some of the wetness dripping from your folds and putting attention back on your clit.

"So wet for me," Natasha murmured. "It is for me, right? Or did that man out there get you dripping like a needy slut?"

You groaned, captivated by the action happening between your thighs. "Just for you," you said as your eyes slowly fluttered. Natasha picked up the pace adding slight pressure as well. You squealed.

"That’s it," she whispered, holding you tighter around the waist. "That’s my girl."

Suddenly, though, she moved her fingers back to your folds where, without warning, she shoved two fingers inside you. You yelped, twisting in her grip. She didn’t even budge. You cried out as the fingers flicked upwards, hitting just the right spots.

"If you want to act like a slut you have to deal with being fingered like one, got it?" Natasha said. Her mouth was practically on your ear, she was whispering so lowly it sent goosebumps up your arms. She was pissed and serious. You were loving it.

"Y-Yes, Natasha." You barely managed to get the words out but your girlfriend seemed very pleased. Her fingers picked up — significantly. A squelching noise now filled the bathroom, coming directly from your wetness which was not stopping any time soon it seemed. Natasha was also taking the moment to make sure her hand was hitting your clit. With every single pump. It was getting overwhelming very, very fast.

You spoke again, "Please, please… I’m gonna cum."

"Yeah?" Natasha mocked. "My little slut needs to cum?"

You nodded your head profusely. "Please, please." The begging was becoming second nature at this point, your only instinct. Natasha seemed very pleased with that.

"Fine," she huffed. "Cum all over my fingers you greedy little girl. And you better scream when you cum. I want every single person, especially that man, to know who’s treating you so well."

Her paced picked up even more (how that was possible you didn’t know) and your body reacted wonderfully. Within moments, you were crumbling like a house of cards. Your orgasm rushed over you as you cried out much louder than you had actually intended. You couldn’t stop as Natasha continued to work you through the orgasm. She didn’t give up until you were limp in her arms.

She chuckled, watching your body practically collapse from pleasure. "Was that good, honey?"

"Yes," you mumbled, leaning into her body. Natasha fixed your dress and brought her hand to caress your cheek.

"Good," she said and placed a quick kiss on your lips. "Maybe that’ll teach you to behave."

Now it was your turn to laugh. "Why would I behave when that’s what I get for being bad?"

Abruptly, Natasha’s hand came around your neck, forcing you to look at her. Her gaze was dark, her CEO stance still very much engaged. "Don’t even tempt me."

You bit your lip teasingly but nodded your head slowly. You certainly didn’t mean it, though, already secretly planning the next time you could ruffle her feathers.

[wri0thesley]

A Well Rounded Education (2): Grading Boundaries (Fem!Reader x Nanami Kento, 7.5k)

series synopsis: You are a teacher’s aid to teacher Gojo Satoru, training to be able to take over your own class next year by shadowing and helping him out. Gojo does not make things easy for anybody.

chapter synopsis: the father of one of your students requested a meeting to ask about ways of improving his son’s grades. after working with him for a few weeks, nanami wants to thank you for helping yuji out in his own personal way. 

NSFW. AFAB reader, fem pronouns. oral sex (male on female and female on male), massage, nanami is just a gentleman after toji tbh.

(a well rounded education m.list and navigation)

1.

You oversleep the next morning and for the first time since beginning your work as Gojo’s teaching aid, the other man is at his desk before you manage to rush into the classroom. He’s relaxed, arms behind his head, feet up on the desk – and when he sees you, he gives you a cheery wave and a grin.

“Found this on the floor this morning!” He says to you, using his thumb to flip you something small and round that you only manage to catch through sheer dumb luck. You stare down at the thing you’re cradling in your palm; one of the round buttons from your blouse, that you guess you missed after Toji had left and you’d had to try and pull yourself together.

““S-sorry about that,” you babble, your mind working eighty miles a minute to think of a proper excuse. “I-it got caught on my jacket when I was getting ready to leave last night, I wondered where it had gotten to--”

“How’d the meeting with Tsumiki go?”

“Huh?” You ask, blinking down at the button still, trying to fight the heat that is crawling up your face as you shove the accusing object into the pocket of your neatly tailored jacket. “Oh! It wasn’t Tsumiki. It was Mr Fushiguro, actually. M-Megumi’s father?”

There’s a pause in the air, almost as if it’s rippling with tension. When you look up, Gojo is staring at you, his eyes implacable behind dark lenses.

“I see,” he says. “That’s unusual.”

“I gave him all the paperwork, explained the probation and everything,” you hurry to say, almost tripping over your words. You don’t like the way he’s staring at you, and you find yourself shifting from foot to foot, hoping you don’t look like someone who let their student’s father rail you over their boss’ desk. “Megumi’ll be back in school next week, and hopefully nothing like this will happen again--”

“Mm,” Gojo says. You’ve never heard him sound that serious before, ignoring the chance to poke a little fun. His voice usually pitches and modulates, laughing, before he cracks some kind of inane joke that makes you and half the class wince. “I’ve got a meeting tonight, by the way. I was hoping you’d sit in with me.”

“Please don’t palm off more of your dirty work on me,” you say to him, as you go over to your own little makeshift table in the corner of your room and begin to rifle through your bag for the things you’ll need for the day. “To-- Mr Fushiguro was kind of scary, honestly.”

“Oh, it’s nothing like that!” Gojo waves your worries away with a hand, immediately dismissing it. “No, it’s Yuji’s dad – he wants to talk about his grades, I think? I said I don’t think it really matters, and he got really quiet and kind of angry on the phone with me.” Gojo shrugs. Of course Gojo said something like that. You’re not sure Gojo himself has ever worried about something in his life. “Honestly, he’s a. . . businessman type. Very serious! I just want someone to diffuse the tension a bit!” Gojo grins at you. “So you’re my human shield!”

Right.

Far be it for you to think that Gojo might have an educational reason for wanting you to sit in on this meeting. Still . . . you really like Yuji. You know that sometimes his inability to understand things frustrates him – he’s constant energy, and his mind just can’t keep up with the pace of the rest of him. You’d like to help where you can! And you know that Gojo’s probably not going to be able to offer any helpful advice – his classes might work for some kids, and Yuji does really like him, but that’s a boy who would probably benefit from some individualised attention and someone a little quieter.

You don’t like the idea of him with a father who pushes him academically and doesn’t care about his other achievements. Biting your lip, you nod, busying yourself with laying out the pens on your desk and flicking through one of your training books to see if there’s anything about meetings with parents. This one, you think and hope, is definitely not going to end up the same way yesterday’s meeting did.

There’s a kind of nervous energy in Yuji all day. He drops his pen, he shoots you agonised looks until you come over to check his work, and as everyone is milling out to go to lunch, he comes to stand in front of you, kicking his toe on the floor. You smile at him, seeing how he’s vibrating, rocking on the balls of his feet – hoping that the smile might at least calm him down some.

“My Dad’s meeting with Mr Gojo tonight,” Yuji eventually blurts. Without Megumi in class to tamper down some of his more bombastic nature, Yuji’s voice pitches and wavers. “I’m-- Mr Gojo doesn’t care about grades, but my Dad’s like, ‘you should apply yourself more, you have it in you’ and . . . and I guess I’m worried?” He brings a finger to his chin, dwelling on the thought. The way he says it, it’s almost like he’s not usually aware of the idea of ‘worry’ – oh, to be a twelve year old boy!

“I know,” you say, after a proper time has elapsed to make Yuji think you’ve really dwelt on the situation. You reach into your own bag to pull out the carefully prepared lunch you have in there – you could go to the staff-room, but honestly, you’re still feeling a bit wobbly after last night’s events and you don’t want to go around into the hum of people who’ll gather you up into bubbles of small talk. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sitting in on the meeting too.” You hope your smile is reassuring. “It’s not going to be all doom and gloom, I promise.”

That actually . . . does seem to soothe Yuji.

“My grades are really bad,” he says. “I just . . . I’m not smart, y’know? Megumi knows all this stuff, and I’m just . . . dumb.”

“Being good at school stuff isn’t everything,” you say to Yuji. “You’ve got your own talents. Look at you on the sports field!” He blushes in the way young boys do when they’re being complimented by anybody, a kind of awkward ‘oh, shucks, don’t make me think that I’m good at anything’. You smile. “I’m sure your Dad understands that too.”

“Oh, he does!” Yuji’s eyes widen. You feel a little lock around your chest loosen, just a bit. There’s hero worship clear in Yuji’s eyes now. “He just thinks I should live up to my . . . what’s he call it? Full potential!” He twists his lip, and then leans in, conspiratorially. “He doesn’t like Mr Gojo. He doesn’t think he’s serious.”

Despite yourself, your lips curve into a smile. You aren’t going to trash talk your colleague to a kid that you’re in charge of, but all of the other staff just seem to roll their eyes and let Satoru Gojo get on with whatever he’s doing because apparently he was a prodigy at college or something. It’s nice to know at least someone is on your side, even if you’ll hopefully only ever see him once or twice during your whole year here.

“Don’t worry,” you say to Yuji. “I’ll try and handle it. Now, you should go! All the other boys look like they’re about to play a game of football--”

Yuji’s eyes brighten and he grins, turning away immediately, mind quickly flitting to something more pressing. He shouts a goodbye and a thank you to you even as he’s racing out of the door, almost too fast to be believed.

2.

Kento Nanami (Itadori is his ex-wife’s name, he tells you with a sigh, but the name that Yuji was born with and he’s reluctant to have it changed) is very obviously a businessman, in a well-pressed grey suit and a navy shirt, a yellow tie tight to his throat. He’s wearing suspenders beneath the jacket, an expensive watch on his wrist, and a pair of small glasses perched on a sharp nose. A solemn face, sculpted jaw. He has cheekbones that you think could cut fucking diamonds into pieces, a wave of carefully styled blonde hair over a proud forehead--

What the fuck is going on at this school that it seems like all of the dads are so hot? You do your level best not to look at him too much, as Gojo introduces you and he shakes your hand. He looks at you with his eyes narrowed just a touch; you think he’s trying to get the measure of you, and whether you’re just going to be here to back up Gojo. There’s an air of tiredness to this man that suggests he will not take any of your colleague’s nonsense, and that thought bolsters you when he puts down his briefcase and neatly folds his hands on his lap, looking from you to Gojo.

“I want to talk about Yuji’s grades,” he says, “and how we can help him improve them.”

You like him already. The way he says ‘we’ instead of ‘you’ – the withering gaze that he sets on Gojo, as the white-haired man stretches his arms out above him.

“I told you on the phone,” Gojo says. “They’re just grades--”

“Grades that will follow Yuji throughout his career in this school, and eventually to high school, and eventually to college,” Nanami’s voice is very sure of itself, cutting through Gojo with ease. “I just want to ensure that he has the best chance possible. I want to make sure he’s living up to himself.”

Gojo – fucking Gojo – stifles a yawn behind his hand, and you see that Nanami’s hand flexes on his thigh (wow, his hands are big). You cut across before the two of them can come to blows.

“Yuji’s a bright boy,” you say. “He just needs . . . a little extra help. Someone to sit with him and explain what’s going on, maybe just go over the material again.” You give Nanami a nervous smile. “He’s not the only one in the class, honestly. I-- Mr Gojo’s teaching methods can be--”

“Innovative—” (Gojo says).

“Erratic—” (Nanami says).

“Unusual,” you decide on, in the end, “and not every child is going to thrive.”

“He won’t let me ask them to move into Miss Utahime’s class,” Nanami says, wearily. “Yuji is very fond of Mr Gojo.”

(You know that, and so does Gojo; the white-haired man gives a cocky grin to both of you).

“I enjoy teaching Yuji,” you say. “He’s good-hearted, enthusiastic – he throws himself into everything he does.” Nanami’s tired eyes seem to brighten behind the glasses at the compliment to his son, his lips lifting at the corners in the briefest twitch of a smile.

“He does,” Nanami says, and it’s clear from his tone that he’s very proud of Yuji. You feel bad for thinking he might be the kind of pushy, demanding father that you’d been warned you may encounter in this profession. With Nanami in front of you, it’s clear he just wants the best for Yuji and is concerned that Gojo might not be that ‘best’. You can’t blame him. You often think Gojo behaves more like a child than half of the kids in the class. “Yes, those are all of his best qualities.”

You nervously shift your gaze to Gojo, who is waiting for your next move.

“I’d be happy to work with him,” you say, eventually. “Maybe set up some kind of . . . drop-in, for students having trouble with the work, over free periods? I won’t make them, of course, but . . . I think my methods and Mr Gojo’s are very different, Sir.”

Nanami’s shoulders relax just a touch. He stands, nodding, taking your hand to shake it.

“I don’t doubt it, Miss,” he says – and as he touches you, a frisson of electricity seems to pass between the two of you. His hands are big and surprisingly soft, and as he grasps your hand you can suddenly sense strength behind the grasp. You hope that your surprise doesn’t register in your face, as he turns and inclines his head slightly at Gojo (Gojo does not get a handshake, you do not fail to notice).

“I hope that it helps,” Nanami says, as he leaves. And honestly . . . you do too.

3.

Nanami asks to schedule a meeting with you, two weeks after you’ve begun working with some of the lower-achieving children in the class. Yuji’s grades have been improving, slowly and steadily – the boy looking at you with a grin when tests are handed back with letters far higher up in the alphabet than he’s used to getting.

“Ah, I can leave you to deal with that one,” Gojo says, grinning at you when he hears about it. “You’re the one working miracles, after all! I think Mr Nanami would just be displeased to see me sat with you, and I’m not gonna complain about not having to deal with a guy like that!”

You’re inclined to agree. So you watch Gojo leave that afternoon blithely, like he hasn’t got a care in the world – his bag is full of essays that need to be marked over the weekend, but somehow you think you’ll have a stack pressed into your own hands on Monday morning, more than a little crumpled, as Gojo insists you should get used to doing some marking yourself.

You wait for Nanami with your head in a book, steadfastly ignoring Gojo’s desk and sitting by your own table in the corner of the classroom instead. Last time you were alone with a student’s father in this room, you got to know that desk far too intimately.

Nanami is exactly on time, the second hand of the clock just ticking past the twelve as he knocks on the door and you call for him to come in. Gojo does have an office, and he’s said you can use that if you want – but the few times you’ve been in Gojo’s office, you’ve been overwhelmed by the chaotic mess that the man surrounds himself with. The classroom, if nothing else, at least looks peaceful.

Nanami sits across your table, well-mannered and polite, as you put your book down and smile.

“You wanted to talk about how Yuji’s doing?” You ask him. “It’s only been two weeks, but I think we can already see quite a bit of improvement--”

“Yes,” he says. “I think we can.”

Nanami does not heap you with praise; you get the impression that he’s not the kind of man who heaps anybody with praise. You get the impression he’s the kind of man who gives you an approving look, a pat on the shoulder, a nod – you find that you’re craving that approval yourself, looking at him across from you.

“I look at his homework sometimes,” Nanami says. “He’s getting a lot more of it himself, now. Not pulling his hair out at the dining table. You’re . . . you’re really doing a very good job, you know.”

Your insides fizz at the compliment. Gojo doesn’t give them out, either – but you’re the kind of person who occasionally needs to be told they’re doing the right thing, in order to motivate them to carry on. Nanami’s compliment carries a weight in your heart that lodges there like a secret.

You can’t remember the last time someone said you were doing a good job.

You and Nanami talk through the grading rubric, the other topics that are set to be covered before the end of term – how you’re trying to get Gojo to be a little more academic in his lessons, but it’s not working. You mention that lots of the other kids seem to be thriving under having a chance to go back over the material that your mentor occasionally skips and side-steps around, imparting his knowledge in his own particular way. Thoughts of Gojo make your mind swim with fatigue.

You hadn’t realised, until you started talking about it, but you also can’t remember your mind not being consumed by thoughts of your work at any point in the last few weeks. You’re always worrying about something; your mind always rushing from one possible bad outcome to the next. The kids, your training, Gojo, the school, the heavy weight of choosing a career where the next generation depends on you--

“You look tired,” Nanami says, his face twisted in sympathy. “Have you been getting enough sleep?”

You haven’t, really – thoughts of the class, and your work, and whether you’re even cut out for this as a career have been haunting you more and more recently, as you watch Gojo stumble irresponsibly from day to day. You feel like you get home, do some work for the next day, go to sleep, and immediately go to work again with nothing in between. You look at Nanami, who’s all concern, and you know you shouldn’t, but--

“I’m just getting stressed from everything happening all at once,” you say, forcing yourself to smile. “I have a lot of assessments coming up, reports I should be writing, reports that are written about me. Ah, those ones-- those are by Mr Gojo--”

“Ahh,” he looks incredibly sympathetic at that one.

“There’s just,” you falter. “A lot. And if I don’t come to work feeling my best and supporting them all, I feel like I’m letting the kids down, but I also just feel kind of bone-weary aching all of the time—”

Nanami’s hand reaches across the table, taking ahold of yours. His palms are warm and rough, and the thumb that rubs soothing circles against the base of your own is comforting. You sigh, eyelids half flickering closed.

“I shouldn’t have said anything to you,” you murmur, the small moment of intimacy (when you’ve spent the last two weeks feeling like you’re lurching from place to place and nobody is paying attention) sending a much-needed hit of comfort to the marrow of your bones. “You shouldn’t have to listen to my problems.”

Nanami’s lips tilt.

“I’d say it’s the least I could do,” he says, drily, “after everything you’ve done for Yuji – and after you’ve had to deal with Mr Gojo.” The look he gives you is quietly private, a shared in-joke between the two of you that makes you smile in response. His response almost makes you forget that he’s touching you, and though the touch is innocuous, you also know it’s unprofessional--

You stare at his hand on yours. It’s the same arm that he wears his expensive wristwatch on, and the sleeve of his suit jacket has ridden up to reveal just a hint of the shape beneath, a prominently veined wrist. Your throat goes dry looking at it, as you think of how strong he had seemed that time he’d shook your hand--

He’s looking at where the two of you are touching, too – a faint spot of red fading in high on his cheekbones. He coughs, awkward, but doesn’t move his hand. He swallows.

“You’re very pretty, you know,” Nanami says, and your body seems to flood with heat. You should say something about how inappropriate that is, thank him for coming to see you and the sweet words he’d said about how you were helping Yuji along, but somehow you can’t bring yourself to do it when he’s looking at you like that. “It sounds very hypocritical coming from me, because anyone who knows me will tell you that I don’t get enough of it myself– but you should rest more. Relax.”

You can imagine him ramrod straight behind a desk, eyes narrowed behind spreadsheets and numbers. You can definitely imagine him tired and drooping, working too hard. You smile again, helplessly, the look apologetic. You’re not very good at things like that.  

“You look stiff,” he says. “Here--”

He stands. You’d forgotten how tall he was, the breadth of him – he unbuttons his jacket neatly, laying it over the back of the chair. Without that, the width of his shoulders is really apparent. You don’t realise you’re staring until he makes a little noise, a ‘hmph’ of amusement, eyes not meeting yours, thumbs unbuttoning his cuffs and pushing the sleeves up to his elbows.

He’s behind you.

“I’ve been told I’m good at this,” he says. “Big hands, I suppose?”

You’re about to ask him what he’s doing when those same big hands are suddenly on your shoulders, the same thumbs that were just rubbing tender circles onto your hand digging into your shoulder-blades in a massage that you feel down to your toes. You don’t realise you’ve let out a noise and relaxed back into the massage until Nanami lets out a low hum that you think is mirth.

The noise you make as he works out that persistent knot in the back of your neck is near-on pornographic, and both of you know it – heat rushing to your face, Nanami clearing his throat. If somebody walking by had heard that – if they came into the classroom, to see you getting a massage from Yuji’s father--

How do you keep getting into these situations? Nobody warned you about this part of working in a school. Why do his hands feel so fucking good on you, fingers digging into your skin – you moan again, rolling back into his touch.

There’s a clipped quality to his voice when he speaks;

“Wait a second.” Your eyes flutter open as his hands leave you, watching in distress as he walks to the door. If you’re expecting him to leave, you’re surprised when what actually happens is that he twists the lock, so nobody can walk in on the two of you doing something so. . . incongruous with both the classroom around you and the knowledge of what exactly the relationship between you is.

He gives you another one of those half-smiles and you feel a familiar throb in your lower half. Oh, this is unfair – he’s so handsome, so unruffled, so gentle as he takes back his position behind you and touches you again.

“This would feel better on your bare skin,” he murmurs, the words ghosting along you as a politely worded request, and obediently your fingers deftly unbutton your blouse without hesitation. This time, you’re glad that there’s no clatter of lost buttons on the floor – this time, you’re able to push it off your shoulders yourself. Nanami sighs as you let the fabric drop, pooling behind you in a crumpled mess. One of his fingertips traces your spine, raising gooseflesh on the sensitive skin.

“Don’t you have someone at home to do this for you?” He asks, voice soft and low like velvet, as he kneads the skin, tension draining out of you more and more with each passing minute. The question is worded carefully, but both of you know what he’s asking.

“Just me,” you say, as his hands slide forward, thumbs digging into your shoulders but fingers resting over your collarbone, his hands so big on you.

“Pity,” Nanami breathes, but it doesn’t sound like he’s particularly unhappy about it. Your breath catches as he moves from your shoulders, further, further, fingertips brushing the swell of your breast in your (sensible, today) bra. He leans forward, his lips against the shell of your ear. “You can tell me to stop if you want me to.”

“I don’t want you to,” you find yourself saying, and his thin lips curve into a smile that you feel.

“I’m glad,” he murmurs – and then, fingers diving beneath the cups of the bra, kneading the soft flesh, the plush of your  body. You’re relaxing bonelessly into his touch when one finger brushes your nipple, sending a frisson of electricity right to the place between your thighs. Your bra straps are slipped off your shoulders, a slight lean forward so he can unclip the thing and let it fall onto the ground. Nanami sighs, almost reverent – when he moves his hand from your chest, you feel their absence keenly, a soft noise of dismay escaping you.

“Pull your chair out,” he says. You do; the legs scraping across the floor. Nanami himself moves so he’s no longer behind you, coming around to the front – casually, unhurriedly lowering himself to his knees in front of you. He reaches up to his face and removes his glasses, laying them neatly on the table to one side of him.

His eyes drink you in and you find your skin prickling with heat. You should be embarrassed; you shouldn’t be here at all, actually, alone in your classroom (again!) with someone’s father (again!), willing to let them look at you and touch you and more (again!). But Nanami reaches in, touching you so gently, fingertips and thumbs delicate as feathers as he strokes over your breast and waist and stomach. As he leans forward and licks a slow, agonising lap over your nipple until it hardens and pebbles, your entire body thrumming with desire. As he sucks it into his mouth, teeth nipping just hard enough at the bud that your body lights on fire, before he kisses a line across your sternum to give the other nipple the same treatment.

He slides his hands past your waist, unbuttoning and unzipping your pencil skirt with one hand, the cotton pulled down over your thighs. Nanami sighs again, cupping your hips, nudging your stockinged knee with his cheek.

“You’re lovely,” he says, affectionate, and it feels so intimate that your heart beats too fast against your chest. “Can I--?” Hands against the sides of your underwear, sliding over you in a way that leaves hot trails of fire behind him. You should be embarrassed that he can clearly see the wet patch, the way the sodden fabric clings to the petals of your sex – but when he’s looking at you like that. . . You can’t make yourself feel it. You nod, sighing, lifting your hips from the seat of the chair to assist in the removal of that particular garment. A light touch on your inner thighs has you spreading your legs further for him, his eyes drinking in the slick folds, the needy glint of your wetness.

He brings his face closer, taking a long breath in, inhaling your scent. The wash of his breath across you on the exhale fans across the length of you, your clit aching with need to be touched, paid attention to. Nanami takes his time, though – your thighs are kissed, first, his lips lingering on the soft skin, suckling gentle love-bites into the flesh. Occasionally, the briefest flash of his teeth, scraping across the sensitive area – always followed by a soothe, a kiss, a lick. Every one of them makes your body bloom into warm needy desire; you can feel how wet you are, know it must be soaking the chair beneath you even before Nanami has used his mouth on you properly.

He huffs out a chuckle as you whine, your hips tilting towards his mouth.

“You want me to use my mouth?” He asks you, his tongue gently lapping at one of the places he’s kissed. “On you, sweetheart?”

“Mm—mmhmm,” you say, breathlessly, not entirely sure that your mind is able to form any coherent sentences with Nanami knelt between your thighs. He places a chaste kiss on the mound above your clit, pulling back.

“Use your words,” he encourages you. There’s a stern dominance to him; coated in fondness, yes, but . . . an order, nonetheless. “I can make you feel so good--”

“Please use your mouth on me,” you whimper, soft as a mouse. Your hand flexes onto the seat of the chair beneath your thighs, and Nanami smiles against your soaking cunt.

“Good girl,” he praises, like liquid honey – and when his tongue finally, finally makes contact with your sex, the other hand has no choice but to curl into his hair as you let out a needy mewl, all of the heat that’s been building up within you since the very first moment you laid eyes on Kento Nanami coming to a point in the crux of his lips and tongue lapping hungrily at your slick.

Your lashes flutter closed, your thighs trembling, as Nanami sates himself on the taste of you, making you relax helplessly into his talented mouth. He knows exactly what he’s doing; the flat, broad strokes against the folds of your cunt, the lower dip of his tongue as he flirts with stretching your hole open with it, the teasing flick of it as it dances, dallies with the idea of your swollen clit.

You can hear the wet sounds of him between your legs, suckling and kissing and licking and lapping – not all of it’s from your slickness, you know, but an embarrassing amount of it is. His tongue pushes into your hole, thrusting a few times, imitating the actions of fingers or cock – and your thighs flex, almost squeezing him between them, your fingers tugging on his hair with a soft squeal of surprise escaping you.

The noise just spurs him on. He fucks you on his tongue for a few more thrusts, before dragging the flat of the muscle through your folds, forcefully parting them (his mouth feels so hot, there), until he can reach the throb of your clit. He uses his tongue to roll the bud, swirling the tip of the muscle around it, drawing patterns over the place that all of your hot, desperate need is concentrated. Your other hand jerks into his hair too, your hips thrusting against his hungry mouth  as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. You almost white out for a minute over the sheer overwhelming sensation of Nanami’s lips sucking on you, the displacement of air – you’re panting out breathy, whimpering noises, Nanami groaning as he edges you further and further towards your peak.

Fingers on your inner thigh. Nanami’s index finger, liberally coating itself in your slick and Nanami’s spit, dragging down the length of you that isn’t currently being utterly ravaged by Nanami’s lips--

He pushes one lone finger into your entrance, and that pushes you over the edge.

Your walls flutter around him, sucking him deeper inside your plush walls. You bite so hard into your lower lip you think that you might bleed, but it only serves to quiet the moan that escapes you by a little. Nanami groans against you, pumping the finger, sucking on your clit, guiding you over the peaks and mounds of your orgasm as he continues to enjoy the taste of you gushing into his mouth, overwhelming with the syrupy sweet stickiness of just how good you taste.

He guides you, too – with careful, slowing licks, lazier pumps – through the weak aftershocks and trembles of your peak, as they come to a slowly twitching halt. Your eyes are glassy, lips swollen from bits, as he places another chaste kiss over your sensitive clit and pulls back. His finger pops out of you with a wet gush that makes you feel so embarrassed at your own neediness you can barely stand it, but between your thighs Nanami is straightening up, a smug glint to his tired eyes.

“There,” he murmurs, standing, drinking in your quivering body, the slick on your thighs, how dark and satisfied your eyes look as you gaze up at him, half-woozy from the pleasure. “Don’t you feel a little more relaxed, now?”

You’re afraid if you speak you will simply slur your words, your tongue feeling unfamiliar in your mouth. You try and focus on Nanami instead – unfairly tranquil, aside from the wet of his chin, the damp spot darkening his collar. He places the finger that was formerly buried inside you into his mouth, the glint of arousal on it consumed by him with a tilt of the head as if he’s savouring the taste.

You can’t help but notice that there’s an outline of something putting pressure on the fabric of his slacks, there, between his thighs – something that looks hard, and stiff, and uncomfortable. You blink at it through a hazy mind as Nanami goes leans over you, gently taking hold of your chin, checking that you’re alright.

“C-can I help with that?” You manage, only a little bit garbled. Nanami’s eyebrows raise in surprise, a light pink flush to his cheeks – what does he take you for? That you’d let him eat you out so well that your toes curl and then just let him leave without seeing to his own issues?

(It’s a confidence boost, honestly – knowing that he’s hard because of you. You know that this isn’t the kind of man who would fuck you on his tongue in his son’s classroom if he didn’t find you attractive, but still . . . Someone like Nanami, with those cheekbones and those lips and those shoulders, wanting somebody like you?)

“I-- ahh--” He seems nervous about it, a little flustered, clearly not expecting you to offer something like that – but then, you raise one hazy hand and gently pet his crotch through the fabric and he whistles through his teeth, the organ giving a welcoming throb beneath your hand. You swallow at how it responds, the size and heat of it.

“Please?” Plump lower lip caught between your teeth. “I’d like to repay the favour.”

He swallows, raising a hand to loosen his tie. You see the bob of his throat as he moves, pulling out the chair he was sat on before, parting his own knees.

“I’d like that,” he says, and that’s all of the encouragement you need to sink from the chair onto your shaking knees, half-crawl towards him until you’re situated between his thighs. Your hands reach up to his waist, undoing his belt buckle carefully. The heat of his cock radiates through the fabric, brushing against your arm as you undo the belt. As you undo the button. As you tug at the zipper, the noise of the teeth indecently loud. He sighs himself, a hand cupping your cheek. “You’re so pretty,” he says, repeating his earlier compliment. His eyes on your face make you feel hot and flushed, the way he watches you eagle-sharp as your smaller hands reach into his underwear to pull out his already hard cock.

He’s not as big as Toji was, but that doesn’t mean he’s not big. His cock is elegant, a light upward curve, the head ruddy pink and slick with precome – and as you lean forward and let your tongue trace the slit of it, as you taste that same precome in your mouth, he groans quietly. He brings the hand not on your cheek up to his mouth to muffle the noise, and you can’t help but pout.

“Please,” you say. “I want to hear you--”

A pause. He drops his hand, taking a chest-deep breath. His fingers slide across the apple of your cheeks – you know he must be able to sense how warm you are, how shameless and brazen you feel.

You give the head of his cock dainty kitten licks, getting used to feel of him – getting used to the soft breaths he keeps making, the way that the hand on your cheek moves to knit into your hair. You know you’re teasing him, but the way he looks down at you like you’re the one doing him a favour has you all giddy and light headed.

You envelope the head in your waiting mouth, tongue messily lapping at it. It’s been a long time since you’ve done something like this – judging from the sigh escaping Nanami’s lips, the light thrust of his hips, though, you’re not doing too bad of a job on it.

You take him a little further, willing your mouth to open wider. Your tongue is still moving against him sloppily – tracing the veins of his shaft, licking fat stripes where you can manage to get it around. You feel a trickle of drool escape your lips as you widen your mouth a bit more, so much you can feel a light ache in your jaw.

“Fuck,” Nanami breathes, deep and ragged. “Fuck, that’s a good girl.”

The praise just eggs you on further, makes you want to take him deeper – makes you want to win more noises said by that dark, low voice. You push too far and have to pull back a little, your makeup smearing (you’re glad you’d foregone a darker lipstick today), your eyes watering. But you’re determined, and after you’ve managed to draw a choked breath around the cock in your mouth, you’re back on it, kissing and sucking and licking as best you can. Every so often, Nanami will groan from above you, his hips jerking, the hand in your hair guiding you just a little to the left. The other hand comes to cradle your face, so tender and careful with you.

“You feel so good,” he says, soft, like he can barely believe where you are. “Your mouth is so good, sweetheart--”

The flat of your tongue is dragged over the slit, his taste flooding your senses. You squeeze your thighs together, the friction thrilling even considering how slick your cunt still is (you’re grateful that your skirt is dark, because you know you must have soaked through your underwear).

His hips are moving more regularly now, but you can tell that he’s still holding back – that he doesn’t want to roughly fuck your throat, though he easily could. You look up at him with your eyes dark and wide, your lashes trembling, trying to get across that it’s alright for him to do that without having to stop hungrily licking and sucking at his cock. He sees your gaze, your lips wrapped around him, your cheeks hollowed in your attempts to impress, and he breathes out a shaking exhale.

“Is it really okay?” He asks you. “I don’t want to hurt you--”

You hum your affirmative around his cock and his eyes roll back into his head for just a moment, groan escaping his parted lips again, as he begins to rock his hips into your mouth. You gag around it at first – so big, so thick, even though he’s not going that fast yet – but as he begins to pick up his pace, your mouth gets used to moving in tandem with his thrusts and the tugs on your hair.

The ache in your jaw begins to be pleasant; you begin to feel like you’re meant to have it open that wide, that the bump of his cockhead against the back of your throat is right and perfect. His face is flushing, his breath getting shaky – whistling in his chest.

His chest. You stare at the bare collar above the buttons of his shirt, the lean shadows of his collarbone – you think, judging by the broadness of his shoulders, he’s probably built beneath there. You’d love to find out. You’d love to be somewhere other than in the classroom with this man, somewhere where you could learn his body by heart, where the floor beneath your knees isn’t quite so hard--

“Fuck,” he hisses, fingers tightening so hard that you groan, your throat vibrating around his cock. “Sweetheart, my good girl, I’m gonna--”

You hear the warning in his voice and you suck harder, swirl your tongue faster, coaxing him forward – his abdomen flexes under the shirt, his cock juddering in your mouth, pulsing as your mouth suddenly fills with the hot, wet, salty and unmistakable taste of Nanami’s come--

You keep sucking. You keep licking, swallowing pump after pump, draining forth every single drop of his release that you can until he’s shuddering and his cock is softening, his head thrown over the back of the chair to reveal the tempting column of his throat.

He’s taking deep breaths, great heaving ones that his shoulders move in time with, as the last few thunderbolts of his release travel through his body and he groans in the pleasured way that someone who has orgasmed their worries away does.

Nanami’s hand in your hair eases, his breaths evening out from the shakes and groans. His fingers are quiet and affectionate, as you pull back, swallowing the final few drops of his release. He looks down at you with those intense eyes half-lidded, his face briefly free of lines and stress and worry. He sighs, hand diving into the jacket still hung on the chair behind him – when the hand emerges, he’s holding a handkerchief, that he brings up to your face like a lover.

Tenderly, he wipes a bead of his come from the corner of your mouth. The action is so warm, so fond, that you can barely breathe for looking up at him. You feel like you’re knelt at some kind of altar – that Nanami had prayed to you, and now you are responding with your own supplication.

“Are you alright?” He asks you. “Your knees? Your mouth?” He’s so gorgeous; unfairly picked out under the classroom lights, like he doesn’t belong here at all. In another world, he’s avenging like an angel with a weapon in his hand. Now, he’s softly rumpled with his shirt unbuttoned and one of his suspenders fallen down his shoulder, his knees spread wide.

“Yes,” you breathe. He smiles again – he does not grin. His mouth is just a light uptilt, as he leans forward and brushes his lips over your own.

“Good girl,” he murmurs again, the words sending another shiver down your spine. “Do you need some help getting dressed?”

You rise onto unsteady legs and Nanami is there, supporting you carefully, rising with you. He rescues your skirt, your bra – deft fingers re-doing buttons, catching eyes with hooks, zipping up until you look – if not immaculate – at least presentable. Someone who had seen you this morning would probably recognise that your skirt is creased and your blouse is crumpled, that your hair is falling around your face--

Nanami’s fingers capture those strands too, tucking them back behind your ear, smoothing them out. Every single sweep and caress of his fingers makes you feel like you’re about to break into pieces from how soft you feel, how cherished. It’s a stark difference to how you had felt after Toji had swung out of your classroom, leaving you prone and leaking his come.

He leaves you, after you’ve regained your balance, to get your bag and coat, to grab the book you had been reading before this meeting had commenced – and he sets himself to rights with a calm, assured aura. If someone looked closely at him, you think perhaps they’d notice the tie not quite as tight, the hair not quite as neatly swept from his brow – you yourself can barely take your eyes off him. Is there something in the water in this town?

He grasps his briefcase, clips his glasses into the top pocket of his suit jacket instead of placing them back on his nose. His entire being seems to have lost tension, his eyes not quite as tired, his shoulders not quite as strained. As he finished, he comes to stand beside you – an arm gallantly curving around your waist just loosely enough that the touch could be read as friendly and not romantic. As the two of you walk across the classroom, he says quietly;

“You really should relax, you know. You don’t have anything to worry about. Yuji adores you, and I’m sure the rest of the children do too.”

(Your cheeks heat, the compliment warm and convincing in the sonorous bass of Nanami’s voice).

“Even Gojo isn’t permanent,” he says. “Anybody would be lucky to end up with you.” A cough. “That’s . . . as a teacher and in other ways.”

He pauses at the door, unlocking it with a final click that feels like he is saying that this little adventure has truly come to its natural end. His eyes linger affectionately on your face, a brief touch of hesitation colouring his features – before, once more, he leans in and brushes his lips against yours with a feather-soft touch that has you gasping in surprise against his mouth. The hand not on the briefcase takes your own hand, fingers entangling, and if you had thought your face was warm before, you’re quickly taught that you didn’t know what heat was.

He draws back a little breathlessly.

“I hope you’ll continue working with Yuji,” he says, sincerely. “And perhaps, if it’s agreeable to you-- perhaps we could schedule a catch-up meeting in a few weeks? So I may see. . . how things are progressing?”

“Of course, Sir,” you say, words very breathy.

When you get home tonight, and probably for the next few weeks, you’ll take a really good look at the grading rubric. You know. For the kids. Not because of Nanami’s sharp cheekbones and wicked tongue and the glint that had been in his eye when he had pressed his mouth against your heated core – not because of how his cock had felt heavy and thick in your mouth, and how it would feel pressed inside of you--

Nope. Not at all.

Definitely for Nanami’s son.

[teacupcollector]

A Helping Hand - Chapter 3

Series Masterlist Summary - As a woman who is pregnant you are doing anything if it means survival. Even so you found yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time, or was it the other way around? Now you are in the community of Jackson and you can’t help but attract a certain pair of hazel eyes.

(Hello! I would like to note that this is much longer then what I usually write for a chapter so I hope it doesn’t come as a bother. I hope you all enjoy!)

From then on those thirty minute talks became a regular thing between the two of you. You and Joel would meet up, mostly at night on each other's porches and just talk or maybe just sit in silence. He seemed to be very rough around the edges in the beginning especially when it came to questions about his past. All you really knew about Joel before the outbreak was that he was a divorcee and was a carpenter. You decided not to push it and talk about other things. As of right now you both were currently sitting on a porch swing on your porch. He had his guitar in his lap playing a soft little tune and humming.

"You ever play?" He asks out of the blue. "What? Oh no I have never played." You say. "Would ya like to?" He asks. "I couldn't even if I tried." You laughed. "My belly is almost the size of a full grown watermelon. The guitar wouldn't fit in my lap." You say and he chuckles. "But I will say this little sucker likes hearing you play." You say rubbing your belly. "He looks between you and your belly. "Does he?" Joel asks. "Yes definitely! They wouldn't give me a break until you started playing." You say with a warm smile. "And how do you know they are a 'He?' How can you tell?" You asks and he chuckles. "You're carrying low." You give him a confused look and he chuckles. "That means the weight is lower. With a girl it would be more elevated." He says setting the guitar against the railing of the porch. "And how would you know that?" You ask. He pauses for a moment before saying. "I had a daughter before all of this happened." You try not to have a reaction. You place a comforting hand on his arm. "You don't have to talk about it Joel." "I uh... I'll tell you one day okay sweetheart?" He asks and you nod with a blush.

There is a silence before Joel asks. "If you don't mind me asking. What happened to the father?" You sigh and look down removing your hand from his arm. "Well it is kind of hard to explain." You let out a nervous laugh. "It was mainly a friends with benefits thing..." You says looking ahead. "... But he did step up when he found out I was pregnant. I would be dead if it wasn't for him." You say with a quiver present in your voice. "There were these fucking hunters that attacked us. We were talking about baby names." You say with a laugh as tears fill your eyes. "We were best friends from the start actually. It was just us against the world." You sniffle. "He sacrificed himself to save me and I have to live with the thought that I got him killed." You say wiping your eyes as tears begin to fall down your face. "You didn't get him killed (Y/N)..." "Yes I did." "You didn't." "I did!" You cry out. Joel immediately wraps an arm around you bringing your head to his chest.  "All I can think about is that he got chopped up into tiny pieces!" You say into his chest. "I-I went back even though he told me not to. I went back to see if he was dead and... And all that was left was his head!" She sobs into Joel's chest grabbing onto his jacket. He wraps his other arm around you, one cradling your head and the other rubbing soothing circles on your back. He stands up with you and guides you inside to your bedroom. He makes sure you lay down and tucks you into bed. "D-don't leave! Please..." You whimper and he nods bringing your desk chair over and sitting down. "I'm sorry..." You murmur as your eyes drift close.

Ever since that day Joel made sure he did his best to make himself available to you. When he isn't on patrol or with Ellie he is with you. The early tells of Spring has just arrived so as a small celebration everyone decided to get together in the square of Jackson. Kids were playing and singing, there were streamers and fairy lights hanging off the buildings, there were small fold up tables with drinks and food on them, and then there was you. You were in some black flats wearing a beautiful maternity sun dress and Joel couldn't keep his eyes off of you. Your hair was styled differently, or maybe it was the same but never have you looked so beautiful. His eyes traveled from your smooth exposed legs, to the swell of your stomach and hips, to the fullness of your breasts, up your neck, then finally your beautiful side profile. When they say that a woman is glowing when she is pregnant, that would be an understatement when it came to you. He was convinced that you could outshine the sun if you wanted. He is nudged to the side slightly breaking him from his trance. He looks beside him to see his little brother next to him. Tommy had a shit eating smirk on his face. "What?" Joel grunts. "She's beautiful ain't she?" Tommy asks looking to see his brothers reaction. Joel only grunts and looks away. "Why don't ya just tell her?" He asks and Joel sighs. "She is to young for me Tommy..." Tommy sighs. "She isn't that young, she is in her thirties." Tommy says trying to reason with his brother. "She is going to have a baby Tommy. She shouldn't have to deal with an old man like me..." Joel says with sadness filling his voice.

"You know she talks a big deal about you right?" Tommy asks. Joel looks at him curious urging him to continue. "She boasts about ya. Sayin' how helpful you are to her and stuff." Tommy says before continuing. "You both were the talk of the town when you went off on Seth. You have been spending a lot of time with her." He says then nods in your direction. "Ellie seems to like her as well." Joel looks up and sees you smiling and laughing with both Dina and Ellie. Dina seemingly can't keep her hands off you bump and the two teens eyes widening with excitement when they feel a kick from the little life that is inside you. There was currently music playing as couples begin to pair off with each other. He sees you place both hands on your belly and go to sit on a bench that was placed near the square for this event. Joel sighs and continues to admire you. "You deserve to be happy brother... Now you go ask that pretty lady to dance." He says elbowing Joel's side gently and Joel nods and begins to make his way over to you.

Despite all the ruckus in the square you have never felt happier. This was your first town event since you have been here and you couldn't be more excited. When it came to the preparation and set up of this event you wanted to help in any way you could. Maria decided it would be best if you didn't do any hard labor since you were coming up on eight months now. Maria thought it would be a good idea to distract the children so they wouldn't get in the way and you gladly accepted. You spent all morning coloring, reading books, and playing with them. They all were very curious about your stomach and you allowed them to feel. All the kids decided to color you and the baby when he or she arrives. They all also made a book of names for you to choose such as: Hotdog, Teddy, and Sprinkles. You giggled and laughed all morning until one of the mainly residents came to let you know that the kids are allowed to go to the event. You had them walk in two single file lines all the way to the square and to say that the parents as well as Maria weren't impressed would be a lie. Maria went up to you immediately and offered you a spot for helping and or teaching the kids. You accepted but only after your baby was born to which she agreed.

As of right now you just got out of a conversation with Dina and Ellie. You were happy to be talking to them despite the fifteen or sixteen year age difference. You decided it was best to sit down and get off your feet for a bit. You let out a sigh of relief as you sit down on the bench. You roll your ankles in circular motions in order to relieve some tension. You close your eyes and hum along to the music when there was suddenly a tap on your knee. You open them to see one of the kids standing next to you. He had brown hair with many freckles and brown eyes, he was maybe around  eight years old. "Would you like to dance Miss (Y/N)?" He asks and you smile. "Of course good sir I would love to dance with you." You stand up and walk to a free space where people weren't dancing. You had to lean down  slightly in order to hold his hands as you both sway back and forth. The child went on and on about how his day was going, what his friends were going to do at the sleep over, and even how you were his favorite teacher. The conversation was interrupted when Joel tapped on the young boys shoulder. "Mind if I cut in?" He asks with a small smile and the boy shakes his head before going to run off with his friends. Both you and Joel stand there for a moment before he reaches out his hand. "Hi..." He says seemingly gazing at you. "Hi..." You say taking his hand. He brings you as close as he could despite your belly getting in the way. He places his other hand at the small of your back and begins to sway from foot to foot. "How are you?" He ask. "I couldn't be better." You say smiling. You look him up and down to see him in a button up flannel of sorts. His sleeves are rolled up to expose his forearms and to say he looked good was an understatement. " You clean up nice. " You say with a smile before releasing his hand wand wrapping both of them behind his neck. "I try and look nice every once and a while." He says with a smirk. "And you dance too?" You ask. He nods before taking your hands off his neck and slowly twirl you to where your back was against his chest. You let out a joyful laugh and look over your shoulder to smile up at him. "You've got moves huh Mr. Miller?" You says smiling. "That I do." He says looking down at you. Your eyes are locked in a trance as you both can't seem to stop. You were sure you could feel his heart beating out of his chest against your back. You find yourself glancing down at his lips and he does the same. You begin to lean in and up slightly closing your eyes when suddenly you feel him pull away. "Sorry..." He mumbles before walking away from you leaving you on the dance floor by yourself. To say your heart didn't ache would be a lie.

[sukirichi]

OKAY OKAY I ANT HELP IT IM SORRY FOR SPAMMING BUT im a whore so wine: ingredient 18 + sugar 5 + spice 18 for my husband noritoshi

— I KNOW

: noritoshi kamo knows just what to do with you, and it seems there’s a lot more that he’s aware of than he lets on...

: warnings : mature content ahead!

meal order: 🍷 +18 (marriage for convenience au) + 5 (mutual pining) + 18 (disciplining) + thigh riding. your meal has been served! also okay WOW this is my first time writing for husband! noritoshi and im QUAKINGGGG simp for this man SIMP SIMP this man is fine FINE

check my masterlist and bio for my milestone event!

“You’re not holding up your end of the deal, princess,” Noritoshi murmurs in the column of your neck, his deep voice sending shivers down to your core. He snickers at this and runs his hand under your – his – shirt, brows raising when his rough palm makes contact with your bare breast. “No bra?” His fingers flick over a sensitive nipple and you grit your teeth, back arching as you press closer to him. “Hmm, always so responsive…”

“I’m sorry, Nori, I’m sorry, so sorry,” you keep mumbling over and over until you’re grinding on his thigh.

The clothing ratio is absolutely unfair. Noritoshi is still fully clothed, save for the slight exposure of his shoulder blades from when your eager hands ran over it minutes ago, needy and wet just for him.

But you’d been bad. The idea of marriage appalled you because you couldn’t handle the thought of being so committed to someone, but after finding out that your clan leaders planned to marry you to Gojo Satoru out of everyone, you immediately called out to Noritoshi Kamo – a family friend who seemed like he’d be decent enough as a husband.

It turns out he’s also in the same dilemma. His clan leaders also plans on marrying him to a much older woman notorious for mothering several children from different mothers, and he’s afraid of being tied down to a stranger like that.

Which is why you find yourself living under the same roof as him, the tension thick and painfully awkward.

You haven’t seen Noritoshi ever since you were little, and even then, the guy was too reclusive and preferred his books over playing with the other kids. He just has this aura that told everyone they weren’t on the same level as him, and you remember wondering why he shuts himself out like that, until you found out Noritoshi’s just pressured to be the perfect clan head like everyone expects of him.

After both your clans heard of your marriage, they were beyond delighted. In a way, you were too, but it still didn’t change the fact you didn’t know Noritoshi that much.

But it seems that’ll change soon, because you’ve been bratty and lashed out during the clan dinners a few hours ago. They made a degrading comment about Noritoshi about how he wasn’t doing enough as the clan head. Angered, you slammed your fists on the table, defending that Noritoshi’s doing a great job and they should stop breathing down his neck like that.

The moment the table fell silent, you knew you fucked up. Everyone stared at you with wide eyes, and if it wasn’t for Noritoshi’s warm hands brushing against yours with a calm request to sit down, you would’ve absolutely lost it.

“What were you thinking?” Noritoshi begins to kiss your exposed collarbone, breathing in your sweet scent that has him going crazy and hard under his robes. He finds it flabbergasting you’re so innocent, so unaware of your effect on him, walking around every morning wearing his shirt and those skimpy shirts as if you aren’t tempting enough already. After seeing that act you pulled tonight, Noritoshi’s hands roughen a little bit more as he pushes your bra straps to the side, effortlessly unclasping the material before it falls to the side. “You should’ve known better than to displease the elders, princess. Who knows what they’d do to us?”

“I know, I’m so sorry,” you whine out breathily, pushing your hips backward and forwards on his thigh to get some friction.

Noritoshi’s hands have been all over you the moment the clan driver dropped both of you off home. He’s upset – this much you know – and he lets you feel this by pushing you to the wall and slipping in his tongue past your soft lips.

You’re panting and moaning his name, and it’s embarrassing because he hasn’t even touched you there yet. Noritoshi tugs at your top to reveal your breasts and his eyes widen, breath growing shaky for a bit before he leans down, his mouth wrapping around the hardened bud. “No-Nori, gosh,” you moan under him, his arms now trapping both your hands beside your head.

Noritoshi doesn’t stop pleasing you with only his tongue and lips, swirling his tongue all around your nipple until it’s hard and perked just for him. He laps at like a starved man, groaning when your legs wrap around his waist to bring him closer.

“Nori, please, need you – n-need you to fuck me, please.”

“Do you deserve it?” his mouth finally leaves your perky titties, panting at the sight of you laid out open and wanton for him. A small gasp falls from your lips when Noritoshi finally tugs at the knots of his robe, pushing his boxers down to reveal his long length. It seems you’re not the only one who’s flustered and aroused; his cock is red and slapping along his abdomen, the tip flushed and leaking with pre-cum already. “Will you finally learn your lesson if I fuck you good?”

“Yes, yes, fuck yes.”

“Hmm,” Noritoshi taps the tip of his cock to your folds, coating it with your arousal and you’re clenching around nothing. You reach up to grab him by the collar until you’re kissing him again, Noritoshi’s breathy sigh like music to your ears.

He leans forward and enters you in one fluid motion, the sudden stretch making you pull away as you moan left and right. Noritoshi presses his forehead to yours, hands looped around your smaller ones as he gives a small, experimental thrust. Your reaction is immediate. You fall back onto the pillows while your pussy sucks him in like you’re claiming that he belongs inside you and with you only – and you want him, you want him, you want him so bad that you hope he knows it.

“I love you,” you suddenly blurt out, and Noritoshi stills above you for a second. He replaces his silence by slowly gyrating his hips, making his dick rub against your walls, your breasts bouncing and following his slow, sharp yet deep thrusts. “I know it’s too early, but I love you, and I want you so much you won’t get it.”

Noritoshi bites his lips when you suddenly clamp down on him, almost as if prompting him to answer. Sweat forms in your hairline as Noritoshi keeps thrusting into you, his eyes shut close at the feeling of your walls hugging his cock.

You don’t know if your heart is beating a mile a minute because he’s fucking into you so good that your body is shaking and you’re about to see white, blinded by the godly sight of Noritoshi slowly losing his composure of finally being in his wife’s tight little cunt. “I know,” he mumbles with a husky voice, and you moan louder when Noritoshi’s pace only quickens. “I know – because I look at you the same way, and I love you, god, I fucking love you.”

Noritoshi seals your confessions by pounding into you harder, his robes falling into the his elbows and you’re blessed with the sight of his abs glistening with his sweat. His stomach tightens every time he hits your sensitive spot and you’re there under him, gazing up at him lovingly with one of your hands gently buried in his hair.

It’s almost like making love with how he’s worshipping you with his eyes – making you feel like you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever laid his eyes on – but his rough thrusts says otherwise.

“Noritoshi, b-baby, I’m close.”

“I know,” he repeats with such a soft smile that the contrast of his next actions has you gasping and your walls fluttering around him, thighs sore while he splits your pussy open with his cock. “But you’re not cumming without my permission, princess,” Noritoshi’s hands wrap around your neck, squeezing it and cutting off your air supply. Responsive as always, your eyes widen and your fucked out expression only entices him to fuck you into oblivion. “As your husband, I still need to teach my little wife a lesson and discipline her.”

[seriouslysnape]

Teacher’s Pet

__

Severus Snape x Fem! Professor! Reader

Warnings: Smut. Teacher/Student Roleplay.

Request: what about snape and a fellow teacher in a pre-established relationship, but the reader is roleplaying as a student for some fun bedroom play? maybe some funny stuff about how he’s sweeter on her than the actual students?

A/N: HNksdnasodasndk WOW I LIKE THIS ONE.

Word Count: 1,970

“I told you that you’re sweeter on me.”

__

“You’re tense, Severus.” Your gentle voice spoke out to break the silence in Severus’ home study.

The strain in his muscles caused a wince to clearly show on your expression as your hands massage at his shoulders and back. Fridays usually proved to be the hardest on Severus. The students were always much more rambunctious and much more difficult to control when they had the weekend on their consciences, much to his dismay. Students of all Houses had given him a run for his money today, even the Hufflepuffs who were usually the most well behaved were causing Severus grief. 

Cauldrons had been knocked over, potions were spilled onto the floor, glass vials were broken into tiny pieces, and heated arguments had broken out that Severus had to break up, and he had assigned at least five kids to detention.  On top of everything else, all the kids had seemed to be off the walls with excitement.

The absolute bane of Severus’ occupation.

He was disgruntled and aggravated when he returned to his home office, plopping himself behind his desk near the bed and sitting there to stew. He feared that his sour mood would cause him to snap at you and start a fight that he surely didn’t want to have.

However, he should’ve known that you’d come looking for him when he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Professors weren’t supposed to reside outside of the castle during the school year, but Severus wanted to get away from just one night. You peeked into his bedroom with a bright grin, indicating that you had clearly had a much better day than he had. His irritation was very obvious to you, so you allowed yourself in and had rubbed his shoulders and given him sweet kisses to soothe him.

He had told you all about his terrible day, not leaving out any detail.

“Darling, I’ve been fending off obnoxious students all day. You’d be uptight as well.” He grumbled, rolling his neck to try and work out the hard knots.

A soft laugh fell from your lips, sending a rush of warmth to shoot through Severus’ heart.

“Oh, come on. They’re just kids. They were good today.” You remarked, firmly running your fingers along his arms.

“They’re always good for you,” Severus claimed; “Even my Slytherins don’t give you any trouble.” 

You moved from behind him to stand beside him, looking into his tired pools of black.

“Because I’m flexible with them. I understand how difficult things can get and I offer my help for those who need it,” You explained; “You don’t have to be their friend or anything, but you could be easier to work for.” 

Severus scoffed incredulously. That was probably the biggest difference between the two of you. You had very different views when it came to teaching. Students seemed to favor you over Severus (however, most students preferred anyone over Severus) due to your friendly nature. You were warm hearted and made sure your students knew you were available as a resource to them. They respected you as a professor and were comfortable around you as a friend.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a hard ass all the time, they might like you a little more.” You added, hiding your smirk.

Severus’ eyebrows dipped a tad, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek.

“Watch yourself. I’ll send you to detention too.” He said purely as a joke, but his body flushing with arousal when he saw your demeanor turn lustful.

“Have I been bad, Professor?” You purred, your voice going up a pitch.

The use of his work title coming from your lips was turning him on way more than he would’ve liked to admit. His pale cheeks went dark red, and his skin began to itch with desire. 

“I think you already know the answer to that.” He rumbled, sitting up a little straighter so he could touch you.

One of his hands came to peel off your long winter coat to show more of your skin that was hidden away, but his pupils blew about 3x their usual size when he saw what you were wearing underneath. It was a seemingly innocent outfit to someone who wasn’t very observant, but to Severus it was about as scandalous as he could handle.

“What are you wearing?” He asked lowly, his eyes unashamedly gawking over your chosen outfit.

It was an old uniform skirt of yours from your days at Hogwarts, adorned with your House colors and the mascot stitched in the lower left side of the skirt. It was much shorter than when you wore it as a student. You had grown taller since first wearing it and you now filled it out in a much more provocative way since you had been in your adolescent years. 

“This old thing? I just had to change before coming to see you,” You teetered, knowing good and well it was driving him wild; “You know, I think you’re much sweeter on me than your other students, Professor.”

“My other students don’t look at me the way you do. My resolve is so very thin around you,” He reminded you, his hand sliding up your leg to push the skirt past your hips. A surprised exhale of air escaped his chest when he saw you weren’t wearing anything underneath; “Not even wearing your knickers...I’m tempted to take House points away for your behavior.”

Ecstatic thrills buzzed through you that he had jumped onto your little game. You arched your back to meet his frame as his hands began to massage at your hips.

“Oh, please. Anything but that!” You mocked a desperate tone.

A hard, rutted fucking would take tension away from even the most strained of people. Severus needed a good stress release, and you knew this was a hell of a good way to do so, and have some fun while you were at it.

“Bad students have to be punished, Miss [L/N]. Actions have consequences.” He tutted.

Arousal was beginning to glisten your inner thighs, something that Severus never failed to notice. His fingertips were ice cold against your heated sex, a pitiful whimper leaving your lips when he glacially dragged his fingers through your folds.

“Surely...there’s something I can do to rectify my behavior, Professor.” You purred out in a hush of a voice.

“Are you suggesting what I think you are? You’re much worse than I thought...” Severus teased.

Severus stared at you thoughtfully when you only looked at him through batting lashes. His fingers were stilled and refusing to move despite your desperate grinds against his hand. He stood from his chair to tower over you, a rush of intimidation and desire beginning to spew through the cracks of the dam that was ready to crumble completely.

“Get on the bed.” He ordered.

You teased your lower lip with your teeth, obliging to his husky command and retreating to his large bed, sinking and sprawling yourself out on the mattress seductively. This was a damn gorgeous sight to see. He loved the way you were wriggling with anticipation and expectation for him. Your thighs were rubbing together to create even just an ounce of friction to appease the ache.

“You’re so impatient. If you’re so needy then I suppose you can get yourself of-”

“No! Please, I need you, sir,” You droned. 

He had joined you on the bed, placing a knee on either side of you to keep you from going anywhere. He watched your squirm some more while he removed his belt and pants in a painfully slow fashion. He was determined to bring you to the brink of insanity. He wanted every noise that came out of you to either be a plea or a moan. 

“I’m feeling rather generous tonight.” He fished his hard dick out of his boxers, the sight filling you with joy.

You couldn’t help but smirk up at him, rolling your hips into his pelvis casually.

“I told you that you’re sweeter on me.” You grinned.

With that statement and without missing a beat, Severus shoved all of his cock into your throbbing entrance, the dam breaking completely. A stunned cry wailed out into the room, echoing off of the walls. Severus didn’t even bother to strip you of your clothes. 

He had all the access he needed.

He gave you only a few seconds to adjust to his length before he started pounding into you. You didn’t realize just how much pent up stress and aggravation he really had until each new thrust had your eyes rolling back into your head.

You thanked your lucky stars that you were in the privacy of his home and not his quarters at school, because even with a silencing charm you were sure that it’d be blatantly obvious what was happening. You didn’t think it was possible, but he started pushing in even harder, earning him a praise.

“Oh, fuck! Severus...” You rang out, not even realizing your mistake.

He stopped completely, his hand coming up to grip your chin to make you look at him. 

“Do you call all of your professors by their first name? I probably should just leave you here for-”

“Please, no! I’m sorry, Professor Snape, just...please, don’t stop.” You yowled pathetically. 

Severus rotated his hips to find a new angle as well as putting your heel on his shoulder to push into you deeper. He started fucking into you again, almost breaking when he saw the way your eyes squinted shut.

“Such a bad girl,” He muttered out through thrusts; “Showing up to see your professor and expecting a reward.” 

You moaned out in response, your brain was too cloudy to form a verbal response. Your breasts were pushing against the thin material of your shirt, your lacy bra underneath just barely visible. He held your wrists above your head to keep them pinned down, his other hand firmly gripping your thigh draped on his shoulder.

Severus' pace and pressure was perfect, throwing you into a continuous spiral of pleasure with each delicious movement. He was sucking hard hickeys on your neck and just on the tops of your breasts, leaving marks to let the world know you were his. 

That familiar coil was hot and close to snapping at any moment. Severus twitched somewhere deep inside of you, hitting every bundle of nerves he could possibly find. It wasn’t until his ring and index finger found your clit and began rubbing firm circles that you alerted him.

“P-Professor, I’m close.” You whimpered, praying that he wasn’t going to stop now.

He didn’t stop, continuing his perfect thrusts. 

“Let go, darling. I’ve got you.” He said through a strained voice.

With a final lust driven hum, you clenched and came around him, his own release spilling into you shortly after. He filled you with everything he had with a loud groan. His recent release mixed with yours as it leaked from you onto the sheets. Severus didn’t care in the least. 

He fell next to you, breathings heavy and words feeling impossible to come by. The lust had cleared from his vision, and he was feeling much more relaxed now. 

“Are you alright, love?” He asked, pulling your skirt down to cover at least a little bit of you from the cold hair.

A sleepy, satisfied smile appeared on your face as you nodded. He captured your lips in a lazy kiss, your voice breaking it shortly after.

“I think...it’s safe to say that I’m your favorite student.” You joked.

Severus chuckled.

“Well, if you WERE a student then yes. But I’m perfectly happy with how things are.” He praised.

You giggled lightly, kissing him once more.

“Yeah. Me too.”

[fruitcoops]

You write Moody so well! I would love to see something where Moody and Remus talk for the first time after Coops was outed. Whether it happens after the meeting Coops had with Arthur and Alice or after the all star break. I feel like they have such a good relationship!

Thanks! This was partially inspired by watching The Karate Kid (1984) last night, so I hope y'all are ready for some mentor hurt/ comfort this fine Sunday! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW for mentioned forced outing

Remus was almost done. He only had a few more drawers to clean out. The whiteboards were as squeaky and shiny as the day he arrived; the desk had a few more dents and coffee stains decorating the surface, but overall it looked decent. He still couldn’t bring himself to take the pictures off, though. It was his life. His friends. He just couldn’t do it.

The sleeve of his ancient Wisconsin hoodie was still damp when he smudged it under his runny nose. No tears had fallen, but he could feel the maelstrom gathering in his throat. Everything he had worked for, gone because of one stupid mistake.

Not Sirius, of course. Sirius would never be a mistake. It was Remus’ fault they had been caught in the first place.

He stared around his office in misery—no official notice of his layoff had arrived, but he knew it would come, and it was always better to be prepared. Maybe it would hurt less if he did it himself, one final ‘fuck you’ to the homophobes before he trooped off with his tail between his legs.

The tiles were cold through the seat of his comfiest jeans. He tucked his knees closer to his chest.

A quiet knock at the door interrupted the suffocating silence. He didn’t answer.

“Kid?”

Remus’ lower lip wobbled and he croaked out a ‘come in’ with as much strength as he could muster; it wasn’t much. The door opened with a creak—he had never gotten around to having it fixed, after all—and uneven footsteps shuffled in, followed by a sigh as his visitor settled next to him on the floor.

“You have a chair, you know.”

“I know,” he whispered.

“Not all of us have young knees. Doesn’t your ass hurt?”

Remus nodded.

Moody huffed through his nose and hoisted him up by the arm. “Well Christ, kid, up you come. You’re awfully dense for a beanpole. What, you got concrete for bones or something?”

“No,” Remus mumbled as he followed Moody across the hall and allowed himself to be plonked down in the soft chair by the door. It was his favorite of both their offices; as far as he knew, Moody never let anyone else sit there. His chest seized as a sob tried to fight its way out. “I’m sorry.”

Moody shot him a look at he got comfortable in the adjacent seat. “For what?”

“I dunno.”

“I don’t like useless apologies, Lupin.”

Remus sniffled. “I should’ve told you.”

“Says who?” Moody snorted. “Your business is your business. You’re a bright young man, none of this is your f—oh. Okay, Lupin, easy does it.”

“I’m sorry,” Remus blubbered as the tears finally started to fall. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t like crying, but I’m kind of a wreck right now.”

Moody made a few soft shushing noises, inching closer until he could wrap an arm around Remus’ shoulders and pat his arm like he was trying to soothe a frightened dog. “Don’t be sorry,” he said. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

The sobs were near-silent; Remus never cried loudly if he could help it, and he already felt bad enough for dripping his perpetual raincloud all over Moody’s office. He caught his breath after a few hitching inhales and scrubbed at his face with his sleeve. “Are you mad at me?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Remus pulled his knees up again and hugged them tight to his chest. “I haven’t called my parents yet.”

“Did they know?”

His heart gave another painful yank. “Nobody knew. Nobody. And—and now it’s everywhere and people won’t leave me alone and I’m gonna get fired—”

“Woah, deep breaths,” Moody interrupted gently, giving him a little shake. “You’re not getting fired.”

“Yes, I am.” Everything felt gross and cold and sad.

“Who told you that?”

“Coach said it might happen ‘cause I’m a doctor.”

Moody scanned his face for a moment, then reached over and grabbed a box of tissues off his desk. “First of all, take some of these. You look like a mud puddle, Lupin. It’s very unsettling. Second, this is a complicated situation and I wouldn’t be too quick to make assumptions. And third, I’ll go to bat for you.”

He paused midway through blowing his nose. “What?”

“You’re a good man. An excellent PT. The best colleague I’ve ever had, actually. You know your shit and if they try to fire you over this, I’m not going to make it easy for them.”

More tears threatened to fall over the edge of his itchy eyes. “You’d do that for me?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Moody grumbled.

“He hasn’t called.”

“Who?”

“Sirius.” Remus swallowed hard and, before he could second guess himself, leaned his head on Moody’s solid shoulder. “I’ve called him 23 times and he hasn’t answered a single one. He just…left. Didn’t even look at me.”

“He’s making a mistake.”

“I ruined his life.”

“Hey.” Moody’s tone turned stern. “You don’t get to talk shit about yourself in my office. This is a Lupin Appreciation Zone.”

Remus’ shoulders shook and he closed his eyes; he wished he could just dissolve into the floor and stay there until someone mopped him up. Everything hurt. The world sucked. Moody—

Moody was petting his hair.

The tears stopped abruptly and Remus hiccupped in pure confusion. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m bad at comfort, kid, gimme a break.” The sat in silence for a few seconds as Moody continued to pat his head and muss his hair, which was in dire need of a cut but just long enough to cover his eyes when it was pushed forward. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah, actually. How did you…?”

Something akin to embarrassment tinted Moody’s cheeks and he cleared his throat. “My cat hates thunderstorms.”

“Oh. Cool. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“Thanks,” Remus said again, much quieter. Moody’s office always felt safe; all the clutter was in its proper place, clean and homey. The touch of familiarity was more of a comfort than he cared to admit. He sat up straight and wiped his face clean, then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “If I do get fired—”

“You won’t.”

“If I do, I wanted to say thank you for changing my life.” The words hung in the air. “You—without you, I would never have felt at home here. You were the best mentor I could ever ask for and I’m never going to forget that. You did more than just teaching me routines. Thank you.”

Moody cleared his throat again. “Tissues.”

Remus silently passed the box.

“If anyone gives you shit for being gay, you call me and I’ll take care of it,” Moody said once the tissue had disappeared into the depths of his pocket.

Remis blinked at him. “Are you offering to hurt someone for me?”

“I’ll deny it in court.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he laughed. “Fuckin’ hell, this is a mess. I’m a mess.”

“You just got outed and your boyfriend ditched you in an airport,” Moody said bluntly, fixing Remus with a look. “You’re allowed to be a mess. Now go talk to Lily. Call your mom. Do whatever you do that makes you so sunshiney, and then we’re gonna unpack all your shit and put it back where it belongs.”

Remus swallowed hard. Fuck it. Fuck the NHL, fuck the homophobes, and fuck being sad.

Moody narrowed his eyes. “You want to use the kicking bag, don’t you?”

“I really, really do.”

---------------------

“Stupid—fucking—son of a bitch!” Remus gritted out as the beat-up and half-folded gym mat squeaked under his assault. It was two inches of plastic and therapy—he was 90% sure Moody had stolen it from a middle school gym, and it had rapidly become the team’s favorite way of winding down after a frustrating day.

“Harder!” Moody barked behind him.

Remus wound up and slammed his foot into it again. “I worked too damn hard to be kicked out for this bullshit!”

“Damn right you did!”

The kicking bag creased in the center. “And I’ve got too much student debt to walk out of here like—like a coward!”

“Yes, you do!”

His grief had burnt off at least five minutes prior. Remus was well and truly pissed now. “And it’s nobody’s goddamn business who I kiss!”

“That’s the spirit!” Moody cheered.

“And maybe his face is stupidly pretty!” Remus threw his shoulder against the mat before he resumed kicking it. “And, yeah, he has really nice shoulders and a great ass—”

“Lupin—”

“But fuck him for leaving me in an airport! What kind of douchebag does that to a guy? I’m hot and smart and nice and I can date whoever the hell I want if he doesn’t appreciate that!”

“That’s certainly one approach!”

Remus stopped with a harsh exhale and dropped one last halfhearted kick to the base. “I don’t want anyone else, though. And I miss his stupid pretty face.”

A hand, heavy but gentle, squeezed his shoulder. “Then go get him.”

[whisperlullaby]

Friendly Neighbors

Pairing: Frank Adler x Reader

Words: 2025

Warnings: SMUT (18+ ONLY) Oral (f receiving), choking (kind of), face riding. 

Summary: Your neighbors with Frank Adler and can’t seem to think straight around him. His niece Mary likes you and wants you and Frank to hang out so she can see you more.

A/N: This was inspired by a thot given to me by @fluffycutecevans​ I hope you like it! Thank you to @river-soul​ for being an amazing beta and friend and for helping me with the ending. All mistakes are my own and as always Minors DNI

You looked out your window and saw your neighbor, Frank, putting his niece Mary on the bus. He was always so gentle with her and you couldn’t help but let out a wistful sigh whenever you saw them interact. Even his reprimands came out more like guidance than punishment. Mary saw you watching and gave you a small wave which you returned. Noticing the exchange, Frank looked over at you and smiled, causing you to drop your hand and offer a tight smile embarrassed at the effect such a simple gesture had on you. 

You'd never actually spoken with Frank, you always got tongue-tied around him. You have, however, run into Mary on more than one occasion when she was with Roberta. That girl was smart as a whip and took a liking to you almost immediately. She would invite you over for dinner weekly, which you always politely declined. You didn't know what you would do if you were alone with Frank for that long. The thought brought butterflies to your stomach and a deep want between your thighs. 

Friday night rolled around and you took your glass of wine to your front stoop, waiting for Frank to drop Mary off at Roberta's so you could hear about her week. You saw Mary jump down the stairs and giggle as Frank started walking towards Roberta's house. Mary, however, had different plans and doubled back to sit with you on your stoop.

"Hey, can you come over for dinner tomorrow night? Franks making burgers. He makes good burgers and you said they were your favorite so I asked him to make them."

You stared at Mary wide-eyed. "Thank you for the offer sweetheart, but I don't want to impose. Besides I have a drawer full of takeout menus to choose from." You chuckled.

Mary looked past you. "Frank can you tell her that she wouldn't be imposing."

You stiffened and slowly turned around to catch Frank's sly smirk.

"Mary what did I say about bothering the pretty neighbor? Come on we have to get you to Roberta's."

"I have a great idea, Frank. Instead of going out tonight why don't you stay in with," Mary paused to look at you with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "The pretty neighbor."

Your whole body heated up at her statement. For a kid, she was as sly as a fox and too observant. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was to prove to Mary that women should be strong and confident, whatever the reason you decided to double down on Mary's suggestion. Although if you were being honest with yourself you knew the real reason you wanted to spend time with Frank.

"I would love the company. I have more wine inside and beer in the fridge. I also may have ordered enough takeout for a small army." You bit your lip in anticipation of what Frank would say.

Frank looked over at Mary and then back to you, a smile slowly creeping onto his face. 

"We have to get you to Roberta's first." Frank motioned for Mary to come with him. "I'll be back in 10 minutes if you wanna have one of those beers ready for me."

You smiled and nodded. As they headed toward Roberta's house, Mary turned around and gave you a not-so-subtle thumbs up that had you laughing.

You got up and went to refill your glass and grabbed a beer from the fridge. After you set them both on the kitchen table, you went back to the front door to prop it open for Frank. You ran to the bathroom to straighten out your hair and make-up when you heard heavy footfalls coming down the hallway.

“Hello? The door was open so I just let myself in,” Frank shouted through the house.

You reappeared in the kitchen and gave Frank a shy smile.

“Hey, your beer’s on the table. Food should be here in 15 minutes give or take, make yourself comfortable,” you rambled nervously.

Frank chuckled as he made his way over to the table and picked up his beer.

“You’ve made quite the impression on Mary,” Franks stated fondly. “She always talks about the pretty neighbor who teaches her about the stars.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Well, when I was her age I was fascinated by the constellations.”

“Yeah? Tell me more about yourself, sunshine.”

You bit your lip at the nickname Frank gave you. The next 15 minutes were spent talking about your childhood and where you grew up. You learned that Frank used to be a professor of philosophy and after his sister’s passing he gave that up to move here in order to make sure Mary had a normal childhood. As the conversation went on you and Frank seemed to be pulled closer together.

“I don’t know if you noticed. Mary is a bit of a genius,” Frank joked as he finished off his beer, brushing his arm against your thigh.

Flustered, you stood up to go to the fridge and get him another beer. “Yeah, I noticed. She’s a good kid, makes me think about things in a whole new way. I like her.”

Frank smiled as you handed him his beer. His fingers brushed against yours and your breath caught in your throat.

“Why is it this is the first time we’re enjoying each other’s company?” Frank wondered as he opened the beer. 

“Oh come on Frank. Have you seen yourself? I’ve seen the Saturday morning walks of shame leave your house. They don’t exactly look like me,” you reasoned, surprised at your boldness.

He considered you for a moment. “You know Mary didn’t give you the nickname ‘pretty neighbor’ I did,” Frank admitted easily.

You looked up at Frank shocked and saw his eyes blown black with lust. There was a knock on the door and you cleared your throat, getting up to answer it. Frank was right behind you, handing the delivery person money for the food before quickly shutting the door.

“You didn’t have to do that. I was the one who ordered the food.” 

He grabbed the bags from you and walked over to set them on the table.

“Wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I didn’t pay for the food, now would I?” He offered.

“Can I ask you a question?” You rushed out, feeling the wine course through your veins giving you a sense of confidence.

He raised an eyebrow at you, signaling you to continue.

“Did you and Mary plan this?”

Frank smiled at you. “I may have suggested to Mary that I didn’t feel like going to the bar tonight, but that she was still spending the night with Roberta. She’s a smart kid, she came up with the plan all on her own. I just didn’t stop her.”

You considered his answer for a moment before you pulled him into a kiss that was filled with urgency and desperation. His hands gripped your waist and pushed you back into the wall, his grip tightening as the kiss grew deeper.

“Bedroom?” Frank asked huskily.

“Down the hall, second door on the left.”

Frank grabbed your hand and led you to the room, pausing every few steps to give you kisses and nips along your neck. By the time he laid you on the bed you were a whimpering mess, and you were sure you were soaked. He unzipped your dress and pulled down the straps with gentle ease. A perfect contrast to the urgency he was just kissing you with.

“No bra sweetheart?” Frank asked with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“It’s 100 degrees and humid Frank. I barely wanted to wear the dress,” you said breathlessly.

“Oh sunshine, I barely want you to wear this dress too.” Frank pulled the rest of your dress off your body. 

You grabbed at his shirt and ripped it over his head. You threw it across the room and licked your lips at the sight of his tanned and toned chest. He bent down and placed kisses across your chest, taking a nipple in his mouth flicking the peak with his tongue while rolling the other between his fingers. You arched your back at the sensation and wrapped your legs around his waist. You rocked your hips against his growing erection, trying to provide some relief to the ache in your cunt. 

“Relax, sunshine. I’ll make you feel real good,” Frank murmured into your chest as his fingers hooked around the hem of your underwear.

He pulled them down your legs and pressed kisses into your thighs.

“You’re absolutely soaked.” He spread your slick around before taking his fingers into his mouth with a satisfied hum. “Delicious.”

Frank climbed up the bed and pulled you onto his chest.

“I want you to ride my face honey.”

You looked up at him shocked. “I’ve never done that before what if,” you bit your lip. “What if you can’t breathe?”

Frank let out a short laugh. “If being suffocated by this pussy is what kills me then that’s how I go.”

He grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you up towards his face. 

“Go on sweetheart, get comfortable. I’m going to make you come on my tongue then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t see straight.”

You settled your knees on each side of his face and slowly lowered yourself, still hovering.

“Is this okay?” You asked hesitantly. 

Frank gripped your thighs and pulled you down until you felt his nose nudged your clit, causing you to mewl. 

“Just like that, now ride my face baby.” 

You tentatively rocked your hips against his face as his hands held your thighs in place. His tongue was delving into your wet folds and flicking your clit. You picked up the pace as his tongue moved faster. Soon you found yourself circling your hips as he latched onto your clit humming and sucking, bringing you higher until your orgasm buzzed through your body. Frank’s tongue relentlessly fucked into your core as you rode out your high, and with one final, hard suck on your clit that caused you to whine, he sat up and pushed you on the bed.

“Now, gorgeous, I need to be inside of you.” Frank made quick work of his pants and kicked them into the pile of clothes. 

“Condoms are in the drawer,” you panted.

Frank reached into the drawer and pulled out a condom, rolling it down his hardened length. He climbed back over you and lined himself up, slowly pushing in as you arched your back reveling in the stretch.

“Fuck, Frank you feel amazing,” you moaned.

“Nowhere near as good as you sweetheart. You’re so tight, fucking made for me,” Frank grunted.

He started slowly sliding through your warmth until you wrapped your legs around his waist urging him to move faster. As he moved you grabbed his wrist to place his hand around your neck. He gently squeezed the sides of your throat and your eyes rolled back in pleasure.

“Oh, sunshine you look so good under me with my hand around your neck. I’m not gonna last much longer.”

You moaned as his thrusts became harder and more erratic. He removed his hand from your neck and pressed circles on your clit, making you clench around him as your orgasm washed through you. Frank followed closely behind you, stilling as he spilled into the condom. After a moment he pulled out causing you to whimper at the sensation. He tossed the condom in the trash before laying back on the bed and pulling you onto his chest. 

“So, do you think you’ll come over for dinner tomorrow night?” Frank asked as he placed a kiss on the crown of your head.

“I think we can make that happen. I hear burgers are on the menu and they are my favorite,” you stated shyly.

“Well my favorite thing to eat is right here,” Frank said as he moved his fingers in between your thighs. “Might just make this my dessert tomorrow night after Mary goes to bed.”

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Guest Side Story

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Sarah Wilson Rating: T Word Count: 3214

Summary: Sam told Bucky not to flirt with Sarah. But this is her house, so Bucky's pretty sure she makes the rules.

Bucky’s missed white lies. Ones that don’t hurt anybody.

“Is that cigarette smoke I smell on your coat, James Barnes?” “No, Ma. ’Course not.”

“And you’re sure this dame knows it’s my arm she’ll be on?” “Sure, Steve. She’s been after me to fix the two of you up for weeks.”

Stuff like that.

Past few years, Bucky’s either been transparent or a brick wall, all lies or all truth. Which one he loses more sleep over just depended on the day. The most human thing, he’s learning, is to work with a little of both: fact and fiction. Give something here, hold something back there. Lying doesn’t have to be mean-spirited and telling the truth doesn’t have to make him feel hollow and guilty. Maybe you can only realize this kinda thing when you find your way home, even if the home isn’t yours.

Bucky’s standing in the kitchen listening to Cass teach him how to fish. It’s purely theoretical, no gear involved, just the overexaggerated motion of Cass’s arm as he mimes casting. Laughing, Bucky lightly grabs the boy’s elbow before it can collide with the refrigerator on an especially big swing. Cass downsizes his demonstration without pausing the excited flow of his instructions.

AJ catches Bucky’s eye; from the look on his face, he’s beginning to suspect that Bucky might already know how to fish. While Cass is focused hard on his hands pretending to show how to fit live bait onto a hook, Bucky smiles at AJ over the smaller boy’s head and raises a finger to his lips. White lies. Let Cass believe he’s the expert.

When Cass is winding down, Bucky moves around him with a grin, carrying an empty plate to the sink.

“I got it!” AJ declares, whisking it from Bucky’s hand and pumping a squirt of dish soap in the center while his other hand runs the hot water.

Cass slotted the Pop-Tarts the plate lately held into the toaster for him (no better end-of-the-day snack, Bucky was told) and now AJ’s cleaning up. They’re a hospitable family, all day long. No phoniness, no insincere offers of help that they’re hoping Bucky won’t take them up on. He actually had to race the kids to the shed to store a toolbox earlier. On the boat, Bucky has room to put in the effort for the Wilsons, but inside the walls of their home he’s not allowed to do a damn thing because he’s a guest. Per square foot of property, he doesn’t think he’s ever been treated this well in someone else’s house.

“Fine,” Bucky concedes, “but I’m doing all the dishes tomorrow—breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And don’t get up early to drink a glass of orange juice and try to wash it before I’m awake, ’cause I’ll be listening.”

The boys giggle and Bucky leans against the counter, hovering while AJ hands the plate off for Cass to wipe dry and pretending not to listen to Sam and Sarah talking in the next room.

…But there isn’t a full wall separating the kitchen from the living room and Sam knows Bucky’s hearing’s good, right? He doesn’t think they’re discussing anything that private and if Sam’s annoyed with him later for what he supposes Bucky might’ve heard, Bucky’ll just offer up another white lie and swear he couldn’t hear a thing. And Sarah… Sarah wouldn’t think any worse of him if she knew. Bucky imagines she’d have a lot of compassion for his frequent urge to give Sam a hard time just for the hell of it. He flicks a quick glance over his shoulder, just to see her, and concentrates on what they’re saying, giving himself vague permission because he overheard his name.

“This was your idea,” Sarah’s saying. “You brought the stray cat home, just like when we were kids.”

“Don’t compare him to something cute,” Sam complains. Bucky’s mouth tenses to keep his smile from spreading too far.

“He is a guest in my home, Sam, and he’s more than earned it after the work he’s been putting in with the boat.”

“And what about the work you’ve been putting in watching him do that work?”

“Sam. Grow up.” Sarah’s voice is playful and Bucky almost turns, wondering what her expression looks like.

“So you’ve just been appreciating his skill with a wrench and some sandpaper,” Sam says skeptically.

“If I’m also appreciating his shoulders in that shirt— if—” she emphasizes when Sam tries to interrupt, “—it’s nobody’s business but mine.”

“Ok, you definitely can’t have him sleeping on the couch.”

“What do you think I’m gonna do? Try to sneak him to my bedroom after lights out? With you listening, trying to catch us? Uh uh. Your sister is a grown woman with two children, a home, and a boat she couldn’t manage to sell, and she can lust where she damn well pleases.”

Bucky snorts out a laugh and AJ gives him a funny look. Kid’s too perceptive.

“He’s tricky,” Sam lectures. “You can’t see it, but I do. I’ve been around him a hell of a lot more. You think he smiles like that at everybody? If he smiles at me at all, I gotta assume he just looked up and saw a meteor hurtling towards where we’re standing and is only smiling because we’ve got seconds to live and I won’t be able to tell anybody.”

“You are hilarious.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re telling me your friend is charming. That’s what you’re describing. Don’t I deserve to be charmed? Where else is he gonna sleep, huh? With you? In one of the boys’ little beds while they share the other one? Because I know you’re not suggesting we skip the pretense and put him right in with me.”

Sam lets out a noise of obvious frustration.

“Time to intervene,” Bucky tells Cass and AJ, leaving them to swap confused shrugs in the kitchen as he saunters into the living room.

“Hey,” Sam greets stonily, arms crossed over his chest.

Just for fun, Bucky decides to be all the friendlier.

“It’s so great of you to put me up. Thanks, Sarah. This beats a hotel by a mile.”

“Our gourmet kitchen does offer an impressive range of sugary cereal,” she jokes. “I might even cook you boys a special breakfast tomorrow before you head back to the dock.”

Bucky’s grin widens.

“Oh yeah? I wouldn’t wanna—”

“No, it’s no trouble—”

“Well, that would be—”

“Both of you stop it,” Sam orders.

“Sam, go outside,” Sarah orders right back. “Play some tag with your nephews.”

“Sarah, I’m beat. We’ve been working on that boat all day.”

“Mhmm, you and the rest of the neighbourhood. You worked all day and you come home and there’s still two kids to entertain. But guess what?” She smiles deviously at her brother and throws a few fake punches at his stomach. “You’re Sam Wilson, the Falcon! Looks like you’re special after all. Me and Bucky here know you’ve still got some gas in the tank. Go on.”

Sam looks fairly planted to the spot as he glares from his sister to Bucky, but he eventually moves with a lurching step.

“I’m gonna be right outside,” he warns.

Bucky sidesteps out of his path and says nothing, though it’s hard to resist the instinct to egg him on.

“We’re gonna have a super-secret discussion about which towels he can use,” Sarah goads at her brother’s back.

Sam ignores her, corralling his nephews in the kitchen and guiding them out the door into the fading daylight with a hand on each of their narrow backs.

“Great kids,” Bucky observes.

Sarah nods, watching her family disappear, then turns to him.

“We’re not really gonna talk about towels.”

“No?”

Bucky’s eyebrows rise in surprise and delighted anticipation until Sarah grabs a folded blanket off the back of the couch and passes it to him.

“We’re making up the couch.”

“Oh.”

This is ok too. Actually, really nice, standing next to Sarah and unfolding the blanket as she stuffs a pillow into a clean case. Her eyes find his already on her and he swears he almost blushes; he’s been smoothing out the same crease in this blanket for a good thirty seconds with no result, just watching her easy movements, the way she flips her braids back when they fall forward over her shoulder.

“I hope you’re comfortable,” she says, lingering once they’re done.

“I woulda slept on the floor. A closet, even, like Harry Potter.”

“You read Harry Potter? Don’t tell the boys—they’ll be bugging you to play wizards with them.”

Bucky laughs and shakes his head.

“Nah, I just watched the movie.”

“Which one?”

“There’s more than one?”

“You really better not bring it up then,” Sarah advises. “They’d try to tell you everything at once.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to get in out of my depth.”

It feels like a significant look they exchange after his words. Bucky wants it to be—he thinks he does—but he feels awkward, romantically clumsy. Heartstrings tied together like shoelaces, waiting to trip him up. He’s been telling himself she’s only being kind, but after eavesdropping on her conversation with Sam, he knows she’s interested. In his shoulders at the very minimum. Was that right? His shoulders? Just in case, Bucky does his best to square them. Can’t hurt.

He’s fucking ecstatic when Sarah does glance down briefly, her gaze returning to his face with something flustered in it. Sure, she’s a mom and she runs a business, but it’s like she told Sam: she deserves to be charmed. Bucky’s not entirely sure he’s doing it right though.

“So,” she says, “Sam was just being a pain when he tried to convince me you can’t sleep on the couch because you’ve got a bad back, right?”

Bucky sighs but keeps smiling. It’s natural in her presence.

“I’d say that’s him making old-man jokes about me.”

“I apologize for my brother and his bad manners.”

“Ah, he’s not totally wrong,” he concedes, perching on the arm of the couch. “These last few birthdays have required more candles than you could fit on a cake.”

“Then you just have to get yourself a bigger cake.”

Bucky laughs.

“I guess optimism’s pretty much a family trait?”

“We work at it. They say you need to take the good with the bad, but they don’t tell you that means creating the good out of nothing a lot of the time, if you want any at all. The Wilsons worked that out some time ago, so we mostly do alright.”

“It’s a good feeling to be around,” he tells Sarah earnestly. Clearing his throat, he gets to his feet. “Feels good, being around you.”

“We’re… I’m happy you could stay with us.”

The light’s softened in the room and her voice has gone with it. Bucky shifts on his feet.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he assures her.

Sarah’s eyelashes flutter when she looks from his mouth to his eyes. Probably too try-hard to bite his lip now. God, Sam thinks Bucky’s so suave with Sarah, but it feels like he’s only got one move and it’s fucking smiling. Some Casanova he is. Sarah, meanwhile, is beautiful and authoritative and generous and moving closer to toss the pillow he’ll rest his head on tonight onto the couch.

“Anything else you need to be comfortable?” she asks, gaze slipping from one of his eyes to the other. “Another pillow? Pajamas?”

“I’ve got some, but…”

“But?”

Sarah gives him a questioning look and Bucky starts summoning the courage to make a move. He’ll touch her waist—no, take her hand. He’ll cup her sweet face so there’s no doubt what he means.

“But,” he picks up, “if I get cold in the night…”

There’s longing in her eyes, Bucky knows it, but Sam bangs in the screen door right then, one nephew squealing where he’s been slung over Sam’s shoulder.

“Well,” Sam announces loudly to the house at large, “that’s it! No more gas in the tank! Everybody get to bed!”

Sarah appears sorry as she steps back. Bucky almost reaches out to pull her in, to take another shot with another lousy line. Shit, he’s bad at this.

“There are more blankets in the hall closet,” she says, and slips away.

“Thank you,” he calls after her.

Sam walks past, Cass still dangling upside-down over his back while AJ runs ahead, and watches Bucky like a hawk (or some other bird of prey) as he digs through his overnight bag. What’s Sam expecting him to pull out? A strip of condoms? Bucky extracts a green toothbrush and holds it up with an expression of fake wonder. Sam rolls his eyes and heads off down the hall.

They are going to bed early, barely 9pm. That’s probably late for the kids though. Bucky’s pleasantly weary after a day outdoors, more working than talking, feeling like part of something as the Wilsons’ community came together to repair the boat. Seeing Sarah throughout. Flashing Bucky a smile while she spoke to a neighbour, grasping his outstretched hand to let him help her aboard so she could see their progress, checking Sam’s work like she’s his foreman while Bucky grinned and watched the siblings good-naturedly pick at each other. Sam was probably out like a light and Bucky should be too.

He’s not.

He can’t get to sleep right away, but it’s peaceful to lie here on the couch, on his back, while the house gets dark and darker. Sarah left the nearest window cracked for him and a gentle breeze washes in with the chirp of insects. Bucky’s already looking forward to being woken by the sun streaming through in the morning. It’d be good to get from now to daylight in a single stretch of sleep; that’s what he fantasizes about while he lies on his back: no nightmares. His head’s propped up by the pillow he tells himself smells like Sarah, though it probably just smells like her laundry soap.

It’s hard to put his finger on what’s missing, why he can’t fall asleep, until he hears the soft shuffle of footsteps on carpet. They’re too close together to be Sam’s—either hesitant or made by child-sized feet. Bucky cranes his neck around, expecting to see someone walk past on their way to the kitchen for a glass of water. His gaze roams over nothing for a minute, then he slumps back as the footsteps retreat. Maybe it was Sam after all, getting up to look in on his nephews or something. It’s the sorta thing Bucky would do if he were an uncle; he’d treasure the time with those kids, try to remember everything about his visit so he could hang on to it when he found himself half a world away, in Berlin or Riga or Madripoor.

He’s settling, trapping the blanket against his chest with a heavy hand, when he hears the footsteps approach again. Then back away seconds later. Slowly, Bucky starts to smile to himself. It’s Sarah. Can only be her. She’s either trying to psych herself up to come in here and talk to him and failing, or trying to resist venturing down the hall and succeeding.

On her next attempt, she gets closer, and Bucky sits up, kicking the blanket aside, and drops his feet to the floor in anticipation of her rounding the corner. He’s nervously gripping the couch cushion on either side of his knees when she does.

“You sneaking past Sam?” he asks quietly.

Sarah jumps, pressing a hand to her chest.

“You scared me. I wasn’t sure you’d be awake.”

Bucky shrugs, dreamily fixated on her smile. One of her neighbours turns on their porchlight and now Sarah can probably see his smile too.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says.

“Shoot. Did you need something else?”

Kinda funny how she’s pretending she was coming out here for another reason and is just making a detour for him. He knows better, but he’s got enough remnants of being a gentleman not to call her out on it.

“Nah. It’s nothing to do with you.” Bucky stares at her a few seconds and changes his mind. “You know what? Actually, it is you.”

“What is?” Sarah asks with a hushed, confused laugh.

“The reason I can’t get to sleep. Sarah…”

But she smiles and does what he did to the boys earlier—holds a finger to her lips.

With the confidence of a woman at ease in her own home and her own body, she steps forward. She wore a yellow t-shirt today, but the one she wears now is pale pink. It’s loose and worn and reveals the strong, elegant curve of her shoulder when she moves and it slips. Gazing up at her, Bucky shifts until he feels the back of the couch. His hands hover in the air as Sarah digs one knee, then the other, into the cushion on either side of him. She lowers herself onto his thighs.

Moving slow like the hour, deep like the black sky, Bucky runs his hands up her back.

Sarah’s palms land on his shoulders and, smiling, she confesses to him, “I like these.”

He’s smirking when she ducks her head to kiss him.

Now that he has her here—on his lap, in his arms—Bucky forgets every way he wanted to touch her earlier. How he was gonna woo her with tender contact applied just right. Well, thank god for Sarah. She sets the pace of the kiss and, when his hands go still at her upper back, reaches around to bring one of them back down to her waist. He can feel that there’s no bra beneath her shirt.

“Rusty,” he breathes when their mouths slide apart.

“You were on that old boat all day,” she reminds him. “You know I’ve got patience for rusty.”

Still, Bucky wants to do a little better, prove that maybe he’s what she had in mind when she decided he was worth smiling at. He cradles Sarah closer, pulling her in, dipping his fingers into the valley of her spine when she arches into him. They kiss firmer, then faster. At her quick nod of encouragement, he moves his hands to her hips. Lower.

“Sarah?” Sam slurs sleepily from down the hall. “You outta bed?”

Sarah presses a hand to Bucky’s chest and pushes off his lap, other hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. He chuckles too.

“As the Falcon, timing is one of his greatest strengths.”

“And as his sister,” Sarah counters, “it gets on my last nerve.”

“Well, I didn’t wanna say that, but…” Bucky grins.

“Sarah?” Sam calls out again.

She sighs.

“Is he trying to wake the boys?” She takes a step away from the couch, wearing a regretful smile. “I better go.”

Bucky catches himself before he can blurt out I’ll miss you. Overeager fool.

“See you in the morning?” Sarah checks, something shy about her now, but not in a bad way. Cautiously hopeful, Bucky thinks. He’s been feeling that way himself.

He gives her one more smile for the road.

“You bet.”

[wornoutmouse]

Day 8: Somnophilia

@ozarkthedog

Warning: Slight degradation, dubious content? (I mean he agreed to it but it wasn't necessarily official)

Always establish consent kiddos

You wouldn't say you were a selfish lover, I mean your praise kink could attest to that fact alone. But with Aizawa's schedule being stretched so thin, you were getting close to losing it. You knew that hero work was important and you couldn't even begin to fathom taking part in raising the next heroes for Japan, but you had your personal needs as well damnit!

"Hey." you smiled softly at your older boyfriend watching as he practically dragged himself across the floor to your shared bedroom. You only received a tired grunt in response as Shota went to the bathroom to wash off todays filth. You sighed, angrily staring down your dinner as if accusing it of doing you wrong.

Aizawa stepped out of the shower wearing a tank top and some black sweats. You did your best not to look needy as he sat down at the table with his plate. For the most part, you ate in silence with short talk regarding how each other's day was. You couldn't help but smile at how blissed out your partner looked eating your food, and you secretly thanked your granny for teaching you all that you knew.

To your disappointment, Aizawa went to bed mumbling that he was extremely tired and you couldn't bring yourself to protest as you observed the dark bags under his eyes and how unkept his beard was. "I gotta trim that." you mutter as you glare at the dishes.

Turning in for the night, you drag yourself into the shared room and slip into your own tank top and shorts, sighing as you release your tiddies from their fabric prison. You slip into the bed and tense as Aizawa turns and brings you against him in a warm embrace. Suddenly your horny complaints disappeared in that moment and you sighed into the hold.

'Well...that shit didn't last long.' you grumbled as you lay still trying not to wake up Aizawa. Speaking of the devil, you stay quiet as you listen and feel him change position curving you more and more into the little spoon position. "You've got to be kidding me." you growled as you felt something hard and hot poking you and you knew damn well it wasn't love and affection.

"The dude can't dick me down but he sure as hell tease me with his dick huh?" you questioned out loud to no one. You sit up and look down timidly at your lover grimacing as you recall a previous conversation the two of you had.

"Well since the USJ attacks I've been getting drilled by Nezu to spend even more time training the brats so don't be surprised if our personal time is cut short." you pouted as you help onto Aizawa's arm sticking your tongue out when he glared at you. "But what if I get horny?!" you whined putting all your weight on him. "Get yourself off you damn brat!" he said shoving your face away from himself.

You got a creepy look on your face, "Be careful Aizawa, I might just jump you in your sleep!" you tease wiggling your fingers at him whining when he slaps them away. "I don't care as long as you don't bother me!"

No sitting in the dark at 1 in the morning you were really considering jumping his bones as he sleeps. "Damn my hypersexuality!" you grumble as you swing your legs over to straddle him. "He won't wake up, he sleeps like a log," you tell yourself to build up the courage.

You begin to grind on his bulge trying to get it all the way up. You huff as your heart rate slowly rises from the little stimulation you were receiving from the way his bulge was rubbing against your clothed pussy.

After a while of dry humping, you slowly lift the tank top and you drool at the sight of his toned stomach. Unable to help yourself, you bend down to nibble and kiss along the faint ab lines. You felt the skin beneath your lips tremble slightly and you glance up quickly making sure he was still sleeping. You hook your fingers on the waist of his sweats and do your best at pulling them down enough for his hard cock to comedically hit you in the face.

"Even unconscious he's a jackass." you mumble jokingly. For a while, you do nothing but stare at it as you couldn't help but marvel at how gorgeous it looked shinning in the dim moonlight. "So pretty.." you sigh softly before lightly taking it in your hand and stroking it. "Even if I'm doing this for me, I still want to make him feel good."

At this level of stimulation, it was to be expected for him to start reacting. You gazed up to ensure his eyes remained closed as you took in all the groans that slipped from his mouth. You gave small kisses and licks around the base just like you knew he liked it. In return, his member kept supplying you graciously with sticky precum that drenched your hand as you continued your ministrations.

Finally, you take it inside your mouth sucking lightly on the tip before sucking slowly on his sack. You trail your hands down your stomach circling your belly button before shoving your hands in your pants, moaning at how wet you were. You gathered your juices that trickled down your legs and used it to assist your finger inside yourself. To your glee, you were aroused enough to slip two fingers inside quickly.

As you worked yourself open, you close your eyes trying to imagine your fingers as Shota's. Thinking of how his thick and calloused fingers had to take longer to go in but when they did, they reached your deepest place with ease. You whined, tears building up in your eyes from pleasure and you quickly decided that you could no longer wait and positioned yourself over Shota.

Opening your folds with one hand and positioning his cock with the other, you slowly sink down hissing at the warm burn and you do your best to take it all in. As you wait for your body to adjust, you slide one of your hands up to play with your chest while you use the other to play with Shota's.

You're suddenly gasping for air as your neck is grabbed and your cunt is getting roughly pounded into. "W-Wait t-to fast!" you scream holding tightly onto Shota's shoulders snapping your eyes open only to gaze into angry red ones.

"Oh, am I going to fast? You should have thought about that before you decided to be a damn slut while I was sleeping!" you spasm on his cock as you reach your first orgasm. You're quickly flipped onto your back and both of your thick legs are being held tightly as Aizawa continues to fuck into you at an abnormal speed for someone who's been sleeping.

"Thought you could get your freak on and I wouldn't know kitty cat?" Aizawa growled as he opens your legs so he could look at you. Using one hand, he yanks your tank top up to expose your breasts leaning down to take one into his mouth harshly biting the nipple. "I couldn't hel-p it!" you moan feeling your head hitting the headboard slightly. "I know you couldn't, you're just my slutty little kitty, that's exactly why you're going to take Daddy's dick like a good girl." Aizawa nibbles neck in an attempt at muffling his own moans.

All you could feel was the head of his cock hitting your cervix repeatedly at rapid speed and you couldn't determine whether you loved or hated it as your second orgasm hit you making you shake as drool falls out your open mouth. Aizawa kisses you deeply using his tongue to explore your mouth with such vigor, it made you dizzy. After a long while you felt him get close to his end when he slows down and focuses on how much force he puts into his thrusts rather than the speed. "Cum in me!" you beg pulling him in close leaving scratches on his back. To your dismay, Aizawa pulls back and out, "Only good girls get that." For the rest of the time your a hiccuping, overstimulated mess as he lazily jerks his cock and rubs your clit bringing you to your final orgasm as he cums over your stomach.

He lets you lay there staring at the ceiling in a daze as he gets himself a drink of water and you a wet cloth to wipe you down. "Are okay?" he asks. And you could only nod as you yawned, "I'm sorry for waking you up." you apologized as you watched Aizawa slip into bed next to you frowning at the sweaty sheets. "I already told you I don't care, but next time be quieter." he smirks pulling you closer to him.

[arrowflier]

I absolutely loved your last ficlet, the one inspired by Take Me to Church (well, I love EVERYTHING you write), so I'm here with a thought that maybe you can turn into something:

What if, for some reason, Mickey has to speak in Ukrainian (your pick why, maybe directions to tourists or a phone call with a distant relative) and Ian witnesses it and just goes: 😳🤯🤤🥵😍, followed by "can you do that again when we're in bed"?

Thank you anon! Disclaimer that I do not know Ukrainian, so if google led me astray I apologize.

That Foreign Tongue

They were out in the rig, on their way to a pickup, when Mickey got a call.

He fumbled in his pocket to pull out his phone, frowned at it in consternation as it blared.

“Who the fuck?” he mumbled to himself, then swiped to decline.

Ian looked over as he pulled to the curb outside their destination, curious.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Fuck if I know,” was all he got in answer. “Not a fuckin’ Chicago number, that’s for sure. Not New York, either,” he added before Ian can check. Mandy wasn’t great at staying in contact, but they knew to answer if it looked like it could be her.

Ian shrugged, and reached back to grab the cash bag from behind Mickey’s seat.

“Sure it wasn’t Mexico or something?” he prodded with a forced casualness, and Mickey rolled his eyes as he shoved open the door to get out.

He met Ian around the front of the ambulance, and promptly poked him in the chest, hard.

“What was that for?” Ian asked, wounded, and Mickey clicked his tongue.

“For still fuckin’ fishin’ about that,” he told his husband. “It’s been two fucking years, let it go already.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ian huffed. “Sorry for wanting to know more about what you did down there that has people calling in the middle of the—”

“That was one time!” Mickey exclaimed, arms going wide. “One fucking time, and I told you what it was about! Roberto needed me to check on his damn kid, it had nothing to do with—”

“Well how was I supposed to know that,” Ian interrupted loudly, “when you were speaking a whole different language?”

“Oh, for the love of…” Mickey trailed off as he stormed away from Ian down the sidewalk.

He wasn’t really mad. They did this song and dance around once a month, still, ever since one of his old contacts had found him and called him up. It stuck in Ian’s craw that Mickey had had people down there, without him, even though, as he explained to him once, he was glad about it at the same time. They both knew it didn’t really matter—sometimes it just needed to come out.

Sure enough, Ian caught up with him after only a few strides, falling in beside him naturally. His cheeks were slightly flushed, but otherwise there was no indication of their brief argument.

Mickey gave him two minutes before he tried to smooth it over.

Ian didn’t last one.

“You know,” his husband started, reaching up to scratch at his jaw. “I’m just making sure none of those foreigners come up here and take what’s mine.”

Mickey snorted. “Yeah?” he prompted. “Think they’re coming for our jobs and our husbands, now?”

Ian’s lips lifted in a grin, their banter back on track the way they liked it.

“I mean,” he said, “I can’t really blame them.” He grabbed Mickey by the arm and brought them both to a stop right outside their drop, tugging him close enough for their boots to kick together on the pavement.

“A hot, red-blooded American man like yourself,” Ian murmured, getting his arms around Mickey’s waist. “You’re quite the catch, Mr. Gallagher.”

“Mmm,” Mickey hummed, leaning up to bring their faces closer. “That right, Mr. Milkovich?”

He was just about to follow it up with a good old-fashioned make-up kiss, when his phone blared again from his pocket.

“Damn it,” he hissed as he thumped his heels back down and dug it out again. This time, he answered it immediately.

“Whoever the fuck you are,” he shouted into it, “you’re interruptin’ something here.”

An unfamiliar voice came down the line, barely audible to Ian where he still stood close but with a clearly chastising tone, and the fight went out of Mickey in an instant.

“Prīvіt,” Mickey muttered, looking almost bashful, and Ian did a double-take. That wasn’t English, or Spanish…he had to try and listen in on a third language, now? When did Mickey even find the time to learn this shit?

Ian watched silently as Mickey listened to whoever was on the line. His husband had folded into himself, holding the phone to his ear with one hand and his elbow with the other, casting a quick glance up at Ian before turning his attention away again.

“Shcho novogo?” he asked into the phone, and then a brilliant smile crossed his face a moment later. “Dobre, dobre,” he said, then “vitayu”.

It sounded like the caller asked him a question, next, but Ian couldn’t hear what Mickey answered, his husband lowering his voice and turning his back. Ian tried not to let himself feel hurt at the sudden shut-out.

A moment later, the call was over with a quiet “do pobachenn'a”, and Mickey faced him again.

Ian wanted to ask, but he waited instead, hoping Mickey would explain. Thankfully, he did.

“So, uh,” he started off nervously. “That was my…like, my great-aunt or something?”

Ian could feel his eyebrows rising. “You have family you still talk to?” he asked, and Mickey shook his head immediately.

“Nah, not really,” he admitted. “But this one, she’s back in Ukraine still, guess she calls around sometimes to check on me and Mandy.” He looked down at the dark screen of his phone, lips twisted. “Been a couple years,” he added. “Didn’t think she had the new number, but uh. Guess one of my cousins just had a kid or somethin', so she wanted to catch up.”

Family was a touchy subject, Ian knew. So he went for the next obvious question instead.

“Ukraine? That mean you speak Ukrainian?”

Mickey just looked at him. “No, Ian,” he offered dryly, “I just thought I’d make some weird sounds and see if she could read my mind from across the fuckin’ ocean.” Ian didn’t respond, so he tacked on, “Yes, I speak Ukrainian. Sort of.” He rubbed his nose, looked away and back. “That gonna be a problem for you?”

It was a fair enough question. But this wasn’t like the Spanish, which was never really the problem anyway. It wasn’t a reminder of time they spent apart, or things he didn’t now. It was just Mickey. And Mickey's voice, and the way it rolled over those unfamiliar phrases so cleanly, so...attractively.

“Not at all,” Ian clarified quickly. Too quickly, maybe, because Mickey’s cautious look gave way to a slow smile.

“Oh, really?” Mickey said, apparently delighted. He grinned even wider when Ian felt his face flush. So his husband sounded hot in other languages, fucking sue him.

“Better watch out, man," Mickey warned. "I hear foreigners like me are out huntin’ down men like you nowadays.”

Ian cleared his throat, and closed the distance between them again. “And that’s a problem how?” he asked.

“Didn’t say it was, miy cholovik,” Mickey murmured lowly, raising a hand to grip at Ian’s hair once he was close enough. Ian’s breath caught at the soft look on his eyes that accompanied the foreign words.

“What does that mean?”

Mickey pressed their lips together once, twice, before pulling back just enough to answer.

“Nothing bad, moye sontse,” he breathed, and Ian shuddered.

“We have a job to do,” he reminded Mickey weakly, like he hadn’t been the one to start this. “You keep saying that weird shit, we’re gonna have to cancel all our pickups today.”

“You better make some calls then, miy kokhanets,” Mickey chuckled against his lips. “But first…”

He pushed Ian back into a convenient alley right next to their original destination, shoving until they hit the rough brick wall. Ian didn’t protest as Mickey started to tug at his camo jacket, getting the zipper down far enough to mouth at Ian’s neck.

“Ya tebe kokhayu, Ian” Mickey muttered against his skin, pressing tighter as Ian clutched at his back. “Let me show you how much.”

--

Hours later, at home, Ian asked Mickey what else his aunt had said.

"Oh, not much," Mickey answered, snuggling closer. "Wanted to see if we could catch a flight sometime, go visit the old country, that kind of thing."

"Is that something you'd want to do?" he prodded, and Mickey shrugged, shoulders moving against Ian's chest.

"I guess," he said, unconvincingly disinterested. "I'd have to teach you the language, though, none of my mom's folks speak English."

Ian's brain ground to a halt. If the day had been any indication, he wasn't sure he could survive language lessons with his husband.

But never let it be said that Ian Gallagher backed down from a challenge.

"Sure," he agreed, and he was sure of one thing when he felt Mickey smile against his neck--it was going to be the best worst decision of his life.

--

According to my admittedly poor research, Mickey basically says hi, what's up, good, congrats, goodbye, then calls Ian my husband, my sun, my lover and says I love you. It's most likely all horribly butchered because I only speak English and a tiny bit of German, if you know Ukrainian I would happily take correction.